


Starlight

by QueenoftheNyx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Because who exactly is Curtis and why does he marry our beloved and beleaguered Shiro?, Curtis's point of view, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I needed answers and this is where they ended up., Lots of healing, M/M, Minor Acxa/Veronica (Voltron), Minor uses of French and Spanish, Multi, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Romance, a few OCs - Freeform, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheNyx/pseuds/QueenoftheNyx
Summary: This is the story of Curtis Hartfield, a little known commanding officer aboard the IGF-Atlas. Survivor of the Galra occupation of Earth. Best friend of Veronica McClain. Future husband of Takashi Shirogane. A sweet, linguistically talented programming nerd who likes board games.
Relationships: Curtis & Shiro (Voltron), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 76





	1. Whump

Fucking quiznack. Curtis presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. It distracts from the throbbing of his head more than soothes. After experiencing the meta-physics voodoo of the Atlas merging with Voltron and then managing the fallout of the fight with Honerva and the apparent death of Princess Allura, his head has every right to hurt.

He breathes in and breathes out and looks to the only other occupants of the bridge: Iverson and the captain. Mere meters away but lost in the sheer volume of work that has fallen on their shoulders. Veronica left her post the second Lance was back aboard. Acxa was somewhere else, doing something he’s sure she’s supposed to be doing, but he can’t remember and it’s not his job to. And the last of the bridge crew, well…The captain had to order Coran sedated.

At the news of Allura’s… Death, or was it sacrifice? Either way, Coran had gone after Keith specifically. With his fists. Screaming that as leader Keith should have kept her safe. The sight of Coran seething and spitting curses even as he fell unconscious is a smoldering brand on Curtis’s memory. 

He turns back to his screen and rubs at his eyes again. The pressure creates a kaleidoscope effect on his vision. His waning mind gets lost in the indistinct shapes and shadows.

“How long until our squadrons arrive?” Captain Shirogane’s tired voice brings Curtis to the present.

“The furthest from us is 3 quintants away, sir.” Curtis triple checks the coordinates. “I’ve confirmed with squad commanders that we cannot wormhole.”

“Good. What of Daibazaal?”

“The Blades and our Galra allies report no sign of inhabitants. Just like Altea.”

“Iverson,” Shirogane turns to the senior commander, “Where are we on our headcount and inventory?”

“Everyone and everything is accounted for, sir. According to the Holts we are not only at full power, but we have no repairs to make. It’s as if our battle with Honerva’s robeasts and Honerva herself did nothing.”

Curtis hears the captain scoff. He turns in his chair to look at him. Shirogane leans over his control panel, facing the controls instead of Iverson.

“Of course, of course we have everything we need,” Shirogane tells the panel with a shake of his head. “What would be the fun of resetting existence if you didn’t…” Shirogane clears his throat and stands straight. “What do we have in the way of pink fabric?”

“Pink fabric?” Iverson looks as if he thinks the captain has finally snapped. Curtis no longer has the higher functions to worry if the captain has snapped, the mention of pink fabric just reminds him of the Paris Opera.

“Pink is how Alteans honor their fallen warriors. I’ll be announcing an official state of mourning in a few minutes and I’d like to outfit the Atlas as appropriately as possible. We’ll wait for our squads and we’ll take a few days to appreciate what Allura has done for us. Then we’ll get back to work. Does that sound reasonable?”

Shirogane looks to both of them in that moment for confirmation. Curtis nods encouragingly, the idea of taking a break however long sounds like heaven. When Iverson agrees Curtis notes the line of Shirogane’s impressive shoulders soften in relief.

“I’ll go down to the laundry and see what I can do.” Iverson pats Shirogane on the shoulder. As he passes the captain, Iverson shoots him a look. A look that Curtis reads easily.

_Keep an eye on him._

And Curtis will. He can do that much. Then he can sleep. Oh, dieu. Sleep.

He watches as Shirogane steels himself to make the announcement. For a moment, Curtis sees the living legend that the captain is: strong and resilient, never failing. In the next moment he sees a man desperately trying to keep himself together. Curtis turns back around and gives him this moment. His orders come a few moments later.

“Open channels to our allies and squad commanders. And… to lions as well.”

Curtis gives him a thumbs-up once they are ready.

“Attention: This is Captain Takashi Shirogane of the IGF Atlas. Our crew interecepted—“ He loses focus as Shirogane gives a brief synopsis of their pursuit and battle with Honerva. “—Princess Allura sacrificed her own life to- She died to save us. All of us.“

Shirogane starts to fumble for words. Talking about her death makes it real for him now. He’s struggling and it shows. Without a thought, without a word Curtis leaves his seat and places a hand on his back. Shirogane takes another breath and continues.

“At the end of this announcement the crew of the Atlas will start a 5 quintant period of mourning for Allura. It’s not nearly enough time to pay all the homage Allura deserves, but it’s what we have to give before we resume the great work she left for us to do. May we honor her sacrifice and please, may she be at peace.”

Shirogane motions for him to cut the channels, his eyes already clamped shut against tears. Curtis turns-off the mic. When he turns back, he finds the captain slumped on the floor with his face hidden behind his hands. Curtis crouches his head spinning from the change in position. He stays there regardless. Shirogane eventually looks at him, eyes dry, but red all the same.

“Did we ever hear from Keith?”

They did in fact. Vargas ago. After the incident with Coran Keith took the Black Lion and left for Daibazaal. Does Shirogane not remember?

“He’s with the Blades.”

“Right,” Shirogane nods, “Krolia confirmed it.”

Kolivan, but close enough.

“The other paladins? Hunk, Pidge… Lance?”

Shirogane’s voice sticks at the end. Curtis understands entirely. He’s never seen Lance like that and he’s known Lance since the kid was five.

“They’re fine,” he assumes.

“Okay,” Shirogane nods.

He makes no move to stand so Curtis makes no move to leave.

“I’m fine. You can go.”

Had Curtis slept, or ate, or hydrated properly in the last 30 to 40 vargas, maybe he would have the patience to gently guide Shirogane to the realization that he is in fact not fine. Usually, that’s how he handles people in distress, with a gentle touch and soft voice. Like his mother taught him. Unfortunately, Curtis does not have a gentle touch or soft voice anymore.

“Yeah, fuck that. I’m getting you off this floor and into your bed. You’re gonna eat something, drink something, and probably have the big cry you need and I’m not the kind of putain who lets someone do that all alone. Understood?”

Shirogane’s mouth drops open a little in surprise, but he nods all the same. Curtis helps him to his feet, his own body protesting at the added weight, but he ignores it and just tries to be grateful that the officers’ quarters aren’t far from the bridge.

With a grunt, Shirogane lands on his bunk. Curtis grabs a glass and fills it with water from the tap in Shirogane’s private bathroom and hands it to him.

“Drink this. I’ll be back with some food.”

Curtis leaves before Shirogane can argue with him. When he reaches the kitchen, he finds Hunk amongst mountains of baked goods. Muffins, cookies, brownies, and a couple of things Curtis couldn’t name even if he was in his right mind.

“I bake when I’m stressed,” Hunk defends as if Curtis has the energy to care. “And today, or yesterday I guess, was very, very stressful.”

Curtis recognizes that Hunk is trying to talk, and very likely, Hunk needs to talk. To someone. Not him. He already has his over-worked hands full with the captain.

“Commander Holt was looking for you. Something about Pidge?” Curtis lets himself trail-off vaguely, letting Hunk draw his own conclusions

“Really? Thanks for letting me know. Help yourself to anything!” Hunk throws off his apron and skirts around him to leave.

Curtis sighs in relief and grabs a water pack for himself and drinks it all in all go. His throat aches with the sudden exercise, but already his body craves more. Growing up in the desert he knows that when you are severely dehydrated you don’t drink until you’re satisfied, you drink until you feel uncomfortable. He grabs two more water packs and a plate full of muffins. The trip back to Shirogane’s quarters is one stiff step one right after the other. When he gets back, Shirogane is waiting on the edge of the bed where Curtis had left him, his boots and uniform jacket noticeably absent.

Shirogane eyes the plate Curtis holds, “I don’t think I can eat all that.”

The water helps Curtis act kinder now, even though his head still throbs from lack of sleep. “Let me see you eat one for now and we’ll go from there.”

They eat in silence, getting crumbs all over Shirogane’s bed covers. Neither can care enough to brush them away. Curtis smiles to himself when he sees Shirogane reach for a second muffin. When Shirogane’s water glass empties, Curtis refills it.

“Sorry you have to go through all this trouble.”

Curtis sighs and puts his hands on either side of Shirogane’s face. His father does this whenever he had something important to say and Curtis needed to hear it. So, he tries it on Shirogane. If the captain thinks the touch is too familiar or inappropriate coming from one of his subordinates, he doesn’t voice it.

“You would do the same for anybody on this ship,” Curtis speaks only the truth. If the last phoebs under Shirogane’s command has taught him anything, it’s that. “And I didn’t know her all that well, but I think Allura would have wanted someone to take care of you today.”

Shirogane’s eyes begin to well at Allura’s name. He hesitates. They aren’t close, but he needs someone. Curtis climbs back onto the bunk and he pulls Shirogane into his arms. The captain understandably stiffens, his head against Curtis’s sternum, arms stretched away, as if he’s avoiding returning the touch. Curtis doesn’t let go.

“I said I wasn’t leaving until you had your big cry, so if you want me to let go, you’re going to have to start crying.”

Then, as easy as turning on a faucet, the tears come, big fat ugly tears that have Shirogane gripping his sleeves for stability. Selfishly, Curtis is glad. Because now he can just sit, close his eyes, and listen. Shirogane goes through the cycle of bitterness, anger, and then right back to sadness and confusion all while tucked against Curtis’s chest.

“She was thanking me at the end. Why would she do that?” he asks Curtis at some point, his voice tired, but no longer as brittle as it once was. “I should have been thanking her. She gave us everything. Literally everything.”

“Perhaps,” Curtis starts softly, waiting to make sure that he’s heard, “it’s like you said, she left us great work to do. Maybe she was just thanking you in advance for continuing to lead us when she was gone.”

Shirogane sniffs, “that sounds like her.”

Curtis just hums in agreement, his eyes still closed above Shirogane’s head. His breathing evens-out and he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

“Should I go?”

Shirogane’s grip on him tightens just a smidge. “A couple more minutes?”

“Sure thing.” Curtis has no complaints. The captain’s body is warm and solid against his and Curtis, merde, he’s so tired.

He wakes to the sound of a shower running. The light outlining the bathroom door confirms his suspicions. He groans before moving to turn on the main light. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, especially not when he was supposed to be taking care of the captain. Even worse, all he wants is go back to sleep.

The shower stops and he needs to leave. Give the captain some privacy. He had already been forward enough last night, the last thing he needs to do is look like he’s waiting to watch Shirogane get dressed.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Curtis looks up and sure as rain Shiro is out of the shower, with nothing but a pair of sweats and a towel around his neck. Curtis looks away before he can study the completely unfair physique of Takashi Shirogane. Even half- asleep he can’t miss it. What, is he sculpted from marble?

“Yeah, um.” Curtis sneaks a glance as Shiro pulls on a shirt, which somehow is equally attractive to the shirtless version. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to fall asleep, sir.”

“It’s alright. I think I fell asleep first anyway.” Shiro shrugs and then holds out his hand to him. “And my friends call me Shiro.”

“Are we friends now, sir?” Curtis stares at the outstretched hand.

The captain’s face and hand droops just a little and Curtis regrets how dismissive he sounded. He tries to course correct.

“I mean! We can be. If you’d like.”

“I would. It would make this a lot less awkward for the both of us, I think.”

Right. Bawling your eyes out on top of your friend is significantly better than your subordinate. Curtis pauses two seconds more before he shakes Shiro’s hand. “My friends call me Curtis, or Curt. Well, everyone except Veronica. She calls me Francito.”

“Francito?”

“It’s like calling me Frenchie. I’m half-French. It’s not all that creative.”

Shiro smiles a little. “Well, thank you for everything, _Curtis_. Really. I’m not sure how well I would have handled myself if you weren’t there.”

“I’m just glad I was there to help.”

“Same, though speaking as your friend and your captain. I suggest you get more sleep.”

“That I can do.”

Curtis snatches a muffin and glances back at Shirogane, no, Shiro before he walks out the door. “Hey, Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

“Just know this wasn’t a one-time deal. I’m here if you need me.”

Shiro looks ready to reject the offer. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t need it now that he’s cried about it or maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of leaning on others. Curtis beats him to the punch.

“Friends take care of each other, Shiro. And we’re friends now, so you have to let me help.”

Shiro’s mouth purses into a reluctant smile. “Go to sleep, Curtis.”

“Aye, captain.”


	2. Coran's Abduction

Two days later, Shiro cashes in on his offer for help. He catches him in the cafeteria just before he can grab his food.

“Curtis?”

Curtis nearly stands at attention before he remembers himself. Remembers that they’re still on mandatory leave and that Shiro has made it clear that they’re friends. “Yes?”

“Could you do me a favor?”

He can’t decide if it’s sweet, or sad the way Shiro is being so polite. Does he expect a no or does he just respect that Curtis can say no? He lands on sad.

“Of course,” Curtis tells him. “How can I help?”

“It’s an odd one, but would you go sit with Coran for a little bit after you’re done eating? I have a meeting with the paladins and I just don’t want him to be alone. I understand if that makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to.”

A request like that and Shiro still thought Curtis would say no.

“I’ll grab breakfast to go. I’ll head down there now.”

“Dont-“

For once in his career, Curtis talks over a superior officer that isn’t Veronica. “It’s fine, Shiro. I’ll see you when your meeting is over.”

He dares to walk away before Shiro can say anything else. He decides on what he’ll do for entertainment while he sits with Coran instead of focusing on the thrill of being able to throw away protocol.

Coran isn’t much company. Although no longer sedated, he’s practically catatonic. Not that Curtis needs company. He gets to practice coding with Altean characters in peace. Just so long as he doesn’t look at Coran’s empty, watery stare. It reminds him too much of his sister-in-law. Or rather, the stale pile of blankets that goes by the same name.

“Do you ever take a break?”

Curtis grins, spotting Veronica at the door with towel draped over a sweaty-neck and a water bottle in hand. Not surprisingly, Acxa lingers behind her. He almost rolls his eyes. They’ve been revolving around each for the last phoeb. Veronica denies it every time he mentions it, which only solidifies his suspicions.

“Someone has to pick up your slack. Hi, Acxa.”

“Hello, Curtis.”

They enter, Veronica throwing herself down in the chair next to his, shaking her head like a dog so droplets of sweat land on him. He pushes at her, laughing and offering Acxa his seat. Acxa just shakes her head, coming to the foot of Coran’s bed.

“Has his status changed at all?”

“Not since they weaned him from the sedation,” Curtis watches as Acxa’s face falls a little at the news.

Next to him Veronica stands and comes to stand with Acxa, as if putting herself closer would make her feel better. Maybe it does. “Shame too. Coran’s the only one who can tell us the difference between the original Altea and the new one.”

Curtis asks after the latest scans of the planet. Sure, none of them are supposed to be working, but you can’t put a bunch of scientists in space and then tell them they can’t study the reborn planet right outside their ship. You’d have better luck punching a star in the face. Though, given everything else Curtis has seen so far, that might very well be possible.

Veronica stops amid her description of Altea’s brimstone rain showers; her attention turns to Coran. Curtis sees for himself that Coran’s lips are moving, cheeks tensing with the attempt to put out enough air. His eyes have lost the glassy sheen.

“Take your time,” Acxa says, voice softer and kinder than Curtis has ever heard it be, “We’re listening.”

“Fryitad,” Coran huffs out.

“Fryitad?” Curtis repeats out of habit, waiting for an explanation. It’s not a word he remembers from the Altean files Sam Holt brought back to Earth.

Coran looks defeated by their lack of understanding. As if he can’t muster the energy to explain. Acxa saves him the trouble.

“Is it the word for the flaming rock showers? There’s a similar word in Galran for meteor showers. Is that what Fryitad is?”

Coran nods. Veronica, Acxa, and Curtis smile at each other in disbelief. They describe other things about Altea to keep him engaged. Otoocks, he says for mercury springs. Absurkle, Coran breathes when they ask about the mountain range that spans half of the circumference of the planet. He’s talking. Only words, and with a lot of prompting and context, but he’s talking. Curtis is about to contact the captain and the paladins when Coran strings together his first sentence.

“Why are you talking about Altea?”

A cold chill runs through every non-Altean in the room. He doesn’t know, or he doesn’t remember most likely. Curtis _knows_ Coran saw Altea through the bridge’s monitors just like he did before-

Oh. Oh, no. They have to explain that Allura brought Altea back. That he gets his home planet, but not her. Coran handled that topic _so well_ the last time. Curtis, still frozen, watches as Veronica ducks down next to Coran’s bedside.

“It’s better if we show you.” Veronica starts untangling the web of machines attached to Coran while Acxa helps him to sit up.

“Nica!” Curtis stands. “We can’t just take him out of here!”

“It’s his planet and he won’t believe us until he puts his own eyes on it,” Veronica reasons.

“We should at least get a doctor-“

Acxa glares over Coran’s head, “So they can sedate him again?”

“No, I’m just saying that there must be some kind of protocol here and-“

“Protocol doesn’t cover this.” Veronica pauses to look him in the eye. “No seas corbade, Francito.”

Corbade. Coward. Curtis clenches his jaw. He can think of about ten thousand reasons why this is a bad idea. But damn it all if Veronica calling him chicken shit doesn’t work every single time.

“I’ll grab a wheelchair.”

Veronica grins victoriously and Acxa refocuses on the task at hand. Coran blinks, but he gives no other response to what anyone is saying or doing. It takes a little more effort than Curtis would like to admit maneuvering Coran into the chair, but they manage it. As no one comes to check on Coran all that often, they make their escape.

The observation deck is only a few levels up, but it takes almost thirty doboshes to get Coran there after all the near-misses they have with other crewmembers. Coran, no matter how many corners they had to dodge into or short-stops they had to make, never makes a peep. Curtis wonders if that’s a good or a bad thing.

“There it is,” Curtis hears Acxa murmur softly as she wheels him towards the window, “There’s Altea.”

Coran inhales deeply at the sight. Silent tears well and spill from his eyes. Curtis steps away, closing ranks with Veronica as they watch Coran take in the view of Altea. Okay, he admits with a glance at Veronica, this was a good idea.

“Lieutenant McClain! Sergeant Hartfield! Acxa!”

Captain Shirogane does not sound happy, nor does he look happy as he marches toward the four of them with the three Paladins behind him. “Do you care to explain why you decided to take a patient from the infirmary without medical consent?”

Their military training kicks-in. Veronica and Curtis stand at attention.

Veronica answers, “sir, he needed to see Altea. He asked.” 

Never has Curtis seen Shiro so livid, his neck and ears turning red. Not that they haven’t given him plenty of reason to be upset. Technically they abducted Coran.

Shiro opens his mouth and Curtis expects a full reprobation and disciplinary action to follow. Instead, what Veronica said seems to hit Shiro all at once. The Captain flounders for just a second, looking at Coran.

“He _asked_ about Altea?”

“Yes, sir,” Curtis responds this time.

“At ease.” Shiro goes to Coran. Acxa moves aside. “Coran?”

Curtis sees how Coran turns his head the most minute amount towards Shiro, his eyes ever on Altea. “Yes?”

“How are you feeling?”

Coran heaves a long, slow breath as an answer. Curtis sees his eyes dart between the Paladins as they approach.

“Number four?”

Curtis worries if maybe they really shouldn’t have taken him out of the infirmary, but the Paladins seem to understand his question. Lance puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Keith’s fine. Says he’s sorry.”

Coran nods, but his lower lip begins to quiver.

“No. I’m- I’m sorry.”

Coran cries. Hard and loud. Pitiful in his chair, the captain and the paladins move to enclose him. Curtis nudges Veronica and catches Acxa’s eye and the three of them leave. Team Voltron needs a moment.

Once they’re on the otherside of the door Acxa peels off, claiming she’s going to contact Keith. Update him on Coran’s condition. Curtis waits until Acxa has rounded the corner before punching Veronica’s arm.

“Ow! Hey!”

Curtis snarls back, “Hey! The next time you want to impress a girl, try not to get me court-martialed!”

“I was not trying to impress a girl!” Veronica hisses, checking to make sure that Acxa is well and truly out of earshot. “We did what we did for Coran. You’re just pissed that you got yelled at by the captain.”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue that she did what she did for Acxa, and whatever reasons Acxa had for being so involved with Coran’s condition. That he’s known her too well for too long to not know when she’s lost her head over someone. And, also, of course he’s upset that he was reprimanded by Shiro. He’s not a three-year-old learning right from wrong. He’s too old to be pulling stunts like this and Veronica’s too old to manipulate him into doing it. The chance to tell her all this slides away with the opening of the door to the observation deck. Once again, they stand at attention for the captain.

“At ease,” Shiro says, carding his metallic hand through his hair, “I apologize for yelling.”

“You had every right to yell, sir. We were insubordinate.” Curtis tells him in all seriousness, side-eyeing Veronica for good measure. “Just because we did it for a good reason doesn’t mean we did it expecting there wouldn’t be negative consequences.”

“You expect there to be negative consequences?” Shiro asks him, seeming surprised.

Curtis levels him with a stern look. “You’re the captain, sir. We don’t expect any special treatment.”

A look of understanding passes over Shiro’s face. “I see. Alright. When both of you are off duty tonight, you’ll go help Sal and Hunk prep for breakfast. That’s your punishment.”

It isn’t even a slap on the wrist. “That hardly seems comparable-”

“Are you questioning my decision, Sergeant?” Shiro snaps back. There’s a slight quirk to the corner of his mouth that betrays his goodwill.

Curtis narrows his eyes but can’t help smirking back at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, captain.”

When Shiro leaves to go tend to Coran again, it’s Veronica who hits him.

“Really, Francito?”

“Ne sois mauviette pas.”

“I’m not a wimp for not wanting to do kitchen duty just so you can suck-up to the captain!”

Curtis shakes his head. As annoyed as she is she still lets him drape his arm around her shoulders.

“C’mon, it’s hardly a punishment. Besides, if you’ll notice, I didn’t drag your girlfriend into it.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Turns out that breakfast prep is an actual punishment. All of Curtis’s preconceived notions of the gentle yellow paladin have evaporated. Hunk is a monster. A terrible, horrifying eldritch creature from the depths of misery and he currently controls Curtis and Veronica’s fate.

Curtis doesn’t think they’ll make it.

He can’t quite move fast enough, clean well enough, or listen well enough. Sure, he had helped his parents in the kitchen when he was younger, but they had always moved at their own pace, playing either old blues songs or that weird French electronica his mother likes. It was happy, relaxed. Nothing like the nightmare he currently finds himself in. He glances at the clock. Only half a varga has passed. Merde. It’s final. He really won’t make it.

Veronica, scrubbing pots, shoots him glare after glare. Every one of which he deserves. He has a feeling she won’t be talking to him for the next few days, or at least until she gets tired of everyone else.

By some miracle three vargas pass and they walk out of the kitchen. Veronica leaves for the opposite direction, muttering in Spanish about checking on Lance. His lower back aching, he studies his pruny fingers and almost misses Shiro waiting just down the hall for him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Curtis startles when he finally notices him. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see how it went.” Shiro smirks, “You know, to see if you still think I let you off easy.”

Curtis rolls his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t and Shiro knows it. He puts his hands on his hips and attempts to stretch his back while he considers how to answer that damn smirk of his. In the end he decides to change the subject altogether.

“How’s Coran?”

They start to walk down the hallway together; discussing how Coran has improved since his abduction. According to Shiro, he’s making plans with the other Alteans to settle on New Altea. There’s even a few shelters built there already, thanks to some crew members.

“We’ll lose our ability to make teleduv jumps without him.”

“Maybe,” Shiro says vaguely as if it isn’t a fact that one needs an Altean of Coran’s ability and knowledge to activate the teleduv. “Lance and I have been working on that problem.”

“Lance?” Curtis asks just as he realizes the answer. The Altean marks he has- Do they?

Shiro nods his head as the realization dawns on Curtis’s face, “It’s a theory we’re going to test tomorrow. Only bridge-crew can know, we don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on him if it doesn’t work.”

Huh. “So that’s really why you came to see me then? To brief me?”

“You would have been briefed, but I was worried Hunk might’ve been a little too rough. I half-expected to see you laid-out on the floor.”

Curtis rolls his eyes. Shiro gives him a grin. He mutters under his breath, “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Oh? Then how come I don’t ever catch you in the gym?”

He sighs. He hates exercise. It’s a requirement as an officer that he stay in shape, but it doesn’t change the fact that running and push-ups are inventions of the devil. Curtis avoids the gym. Yoga, sometimes dancing, is the closest Curtis gets to voluntary exercise.

“Well you know,” Curtis jokes, “I just don’t want to make you feel bad by comparison.”

That startles a laugh out of Shiro. They trade silly trash talk. Shiro claims he can lift a bus with his altean arm. Curtis counters by saying he can do it with just one eyebrow. Shiro laughs and Curtis ups the ridiculousness just to hear it more.

“Well,” Shiro rubs the back of his neck with his metal hand as they reach the room Curtis shares with Iverson. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow.”

Shiro gives him a tiny wave before leaving. When Curtis slips into his own room, Iverson is still awake. His one eye narrows in suspicion as Curtis approaches his bottom bunk.

“What the hell are you smiling about, Hartfield?”

Curtis shrugs off his jacket and Iverson’s question. As he crawls into bed he’s still smiling.


	3. The Teleduv Accident

Curtis breathes in and breathes out as slow as possible. The air on the bridge is drawn tight. The Alteans left the Atlas this morning, after the Black Lion teleported in as guard and support as New Altea rebuilds. Currently, the Atlas sits just outside the planet’s orbit as they finish preparations to head home. They’ve done three system checks, informed the crew to report to their posts. All that is left is for Lance to-

“Alright bridge! Let’s light this candle!”

A happy if exasperated sigh escapes everyone.

“Set course for Earth, tell the crew to prepare for a wormhole jump.”

Veronica contacts the crew, Curtis punches in the necessary codes. They hold their breath as the Atlas hums, almost purring as the teleduv activates. In the next heartbeat a wormhole opens in front of them. The glowing, pulsing gateway practically invites them in.

It’s a sight, a scientific wonder that Curtis doesn’t think he’ll get over.

Shiro guides the ship through, but once they’re inside everything goes wrong. It’s almost as if space itself, wobbles, like a table with one leg too short. And like a marble sitting on that table the Atlas goes rolling. The alarms sound and the emergency lights come on.

“Atlas crew! Secure in place! Secure in place!”

“Engage stabilizers! Lance what’s going on with the Teleduv?!”

“Sir! There’s insufficient energy output from the Teleduv!”

“Sam!”

“On it!”

“Who wore the purple socks? WHO?!”

“Lance! Come-in!”

In the midst of the shouting the Atlas continues to tumble, the stabilizers too weak against the forces of collapsed time and space.

“Okay!” Shiro’s voice echoes over everyone else’s, “since we’re so unwelcome, we’re going to exit this wormhole. Brace for impact!”

Veronica warns the crew just in time. And what an impact they make. The hull grinds hard against the current of the wormhole, the screeching sound alone makes his bones dance around in his flesh. Curtis blacks out for a minute. He comes to with the safety straps constricted across his body. With a deep breath that does nothing to calm him down, Curtis clicks the button and releases himself from the confines of his chair.

“Sound-off.” Shiro calls, out-of-breath. Curtis can’t even imagine what that hit must have done to the captain, given his unique link to the Atlas.

“Iverson here.”

“Holt here.”

“Slav here.”

“Hartfield here.”

“McClain, barely here,” Veronica checks-in last with a groan. “What about you, Lance?”

There’s silence. Curtis double, triple checks the connections for the intercom. Nothing’s wrong. No, Curtis’s head spins. Everything’s wrong.

“Tell a med team to meet us there,” Shiro tells him as Veronica bolts off the bridge. “Iverson, you’re up.”

With that Shiro leaves the bridge at a run and Iverson assumes command. Sam takes up Veronica’s position for a headcount and damage report while he sets Slav and Curtis on the task of figuring where the hell they ended-up and what went wrong.

Curtis keeps an ear out for news on Lance. He’s known Veronica since they were both eleven, meaning he’s known Lance since before he started kindergarten. It nearly destroyed Veronica when Lance had disappeared; blaming herself for not keeping a better eye on him at the Garrison. Curtis feels sick when he hears something coming from the teleduv.

“ _Tranquilo, tranquilo hermanito. Sana sana, colita de rana, si no sana hoy sanará mañana.”_ Veronica’s voice shakes over the connection.

Star charts blur in front of him. All he can see is the civilian memorial wall at the Garrison. He knows without seeing that it’s after dark, that he’s alone in the room except one other person. He feels the slender, familiar hand squeeze his shoulder as it shakes. Dieu, don’t make him have to return that favor. Don’t let Lance die too.

A moment later he hears the medical team enter. They discuss starting an IV and a blood transfusion. He hears the clamor of the gurney being loaded by a still silent Lance. Then of all things he hears Shiro’s voice.

“Anyone on the bridge listening?”

Curtis gulps. “I am, sir.”

There’s a sigh. “Where did we land?”

“In the Andromeda galaxy sir. We’re closer to Earth than before, but…”

“It’ll be awhile before we’re home. Right. Okay. Can you tell me where the nearest custodial closet is?”

Curtis doesn’t want to think of why Shiro could possibly need to know that information, so he doesn’t. He gives him the directions and Shiro asks for him to have Iverson update him as necessary.

The headcount reveals that Lance is the only serious injury from the jump. There’s damage to the hull that needs repair before they can travel any closer to Earth. The yellow and green lions are dispatched for that particular job. Curtis charts several routes back to Earth and has Slav check for the least dangerous of the options for them to take. Others find Slav annoying, but Curtis, especially today, feels grateful that someone could lay out what is dangerous and what is safe with so much certainty.

“We have two feasible routes, sir,” he tells Iverson.

“We’ll let the captain decide when he returns to the bridge.”

Curtis nods and just as he turns to start on his next task, Veronica comes back onto the bridge. He ignores all protocol and goes to her. She gives him a brief hug, then puts one hand on his shoulder, squeezing it hard three times.

Veronica’s hand slips away, “Lance is stable. I’m reporting again for duty, sir.”

“Go back to the med-bay, lieutenant. No one expects you to work today.”

“All due respect, I need to work.”

Iverson looks at her then at Curtis. “Hartfield, we’re stationary for the time being. Take whatever work you can do off the bridge and go sit in the infirmary with Paladin McClain.”

“Yes, sir.” Curtis smiles in response. Following orders, he takes his data pad and makes his way off the bridge. He gives Veronica’s shoulder another strong set of squeezes.

A few people stop him to ask what exactly happened. He gives them the generic answer of technical issues and assures them that they’d be underway to Earth just as soon as possible.

He’s looking forward to putting eyes on Lance himself. Though, after sitting with Coran and now Lance he wonders if he’s now the go-to babysitter.

He walks into the hallway adjacent to infirmary just as Shiro buries his metal fist into the wall with a half-shout. The rough sound rings in his head. He jumps as Shiro punches it again and again.

Shiro’s face warps in ugly, awful anger. Red from the neck up and jaw clenched so tight that Curtis fears for his enamel. When Shiro turns and sees him, he has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes as he stares at the dent, no, the crater Shiro has left in the wall. He knows, hell, the whole universe knows Shiro is a force to be reckoned with. He has read Sam’s reports. The gladiator fights, the forced amputation of his arm and subsequent attached weapon. It never fully registered that the ever-calm Captain Takashi Shirogane is capable of angry violence. Not until now anyway. Curtis doesn’t know how to handle this outburst. He says the only thing that he can think of to say.

“I won’t tell maintenance if you won’t.”

Shiro only half-smiles, recognizing it as a joke even if it isn’t particularly funny. “Yeah, sorry you had to see that. It’s just…”

His voice is stolen away by his thoughts, his expression turning stormy. Curtis worries that he might go punching the wall again. He worries that the stress is getting to him. He worries that it might not be a wall the next time.

“You should go see someone about that.”

Shiro shakes his head, studying his Altean arm. Not even a scratch by what Curtis can see. “No need. It takes more than a wall to damage this thing.”

“I wasn’t talking about the hand,” Curtis says this with the softest tone he can manage.

“I don’t need therapy.”

Evidently this isn’t the first time therapy has been suggested, based on the acid in his voice. Pushing the issue might shatter the sweet little friendship that has been growing between them. He pushes anyway.

“Tell that to the wall.”

Shiro’s mouth curls like he’s about to spit. Whether it’s harsh words or actual saliva Curtis never finds out. Shiro schools his face into an indifferent mask and walks away. Curtis takes a second to put the incident behind him before entering the infirmary.


	4. Wandering the Base

Curtis didn’t realize how badly he had missed Earth until they come back. The feeling of fresh air in his lungs, the desert heat finding purchase deep in his bones, and the cloudless blue sky above is everything he didn’t know he needed.

He walks in the front door of his childhood home with absolutely zero pomp. Not that he expects any. He neglected to call ahead. He doesn’t exactly want a big to-do about coming home. It hasn’t really felt like home since before the invasion.

“Mon dieu.”

Down the hall stands his mother, her mouth in a perfect ‘o’. Curtis drops his bag onto the floor and offers her a smile.

“Bonjour, maman.”

“Mon chou!” She bends him down by the shoulders to shower his head with kisses. Her small frame manages to swallow him whole. “Curtis! I do not believe my eyes. How are you here?”

For a precious moment he remembers what home is. Her French accent makes his name sound beautiful, not clunky like it does with an American accent. She gives affection the way she always has, unbridled and unapologetic. When she finally pulls back, smoothing out his hair, Curtis reminds himself that Allura gave this to him. Simone Hartfield. His mother, her touch, the way she frowns when he’s quiet for too long. The way she’s frowning right now.

“What is wrong, why are you home? You said the mission could be years. You said nothing about coming home so soon. Are you injured?”

“I’m fine, maman,” Curtis puts his hands over hers, deciding to change the subject. There’s too much to tell and he doesn’t want to have to tell it twice. “Where’s dad?”

His mother rolls her eyes. “With his bees, of course.”

Right. Dad had taken-up beekeeping. It’s supposed to be relaxing and it seems to work for him, at least from what Curtis can tell from the sparse video calls he’s had with his family. He’s glad his dad found something to keep him productive. Now that he can’t work the horse ranch down the way like he used to.

Simone slips her arm through his and guides him to the backyard. There, in a special enclosure that looks air conditioned, is his father, dressed in his white beekeeping suit with a miniature white suit next to him asking questions.

“Jackson! Anissa! Look who’s come home!”

His father and his niece turn. Anissa lets herself out of the enclosure, his father yelling for her to take-off her suit first. She throws off her head gear, hair bouncing like a little cloud as she runs over to him. Curtis sweeps her up. Her arms and legs are like a vice grip around him.

“Nissa! You’ve gotten bigger, who gave you permission to get so much bigger?”

“I don’t need permission!” She giggles as he blows a raspberry against a chubby cheek. “Uncle Curt!”

He blows another one before setting her down on her feet. “Where’s your mom?”

“At work.”

“Raquel got a job?” He directs the question at his mother as Anissa starts slipping off the suit.

Simones nods, “Part-time. It’s a good start.”

It is a good start. The last time he’d seen his sister-in-law she barely ate, barely talked, barely moved. Only a touch more alive than the person she was mourning.

His father leaves the enclosure, hanging his suit before telling Anissa to put hers away too. Curtis studies the way his feet turn in as he walks, the white around his temples. All gifts from the Galra.

“Hey dad.”

“Welcome home, son.”

There’s an awkward pause before they hug. Curtis knows it has nothing to do with him. His dad is just looking for brown eyes where he sees blue, a squarer face where he sees a longer one. Curtis wishes he wouldn’t all the same.

“Want to try some honey? It’s fresh.”

“Sure.”

They sit out on the back deck under the shade. Jackson makes iced tea sweetened with the honey from his bees. Simone tells him about all that’s happened since he departed on the Atlas. Anissa colors quietly next to him; pretending she’s a great artist who’s trying to, as she puts it, capture his essence. When he asks what his essence is she shrugs and tells him she doesn’t know, but maybe it’s in his stomach, or his legs.

“So, Curtis. Tell us, why are you back so soon? And why didn’t you tell us when you were arriving? We would have picked you up from the base.”

Curtis looks meaningfully at Anissa. Even though he’s going to give the watered-down version of what happened, that doesn’t mean it’s any more appropriate for an eight-year old. His mother picks up the hint.

“Anissa, darling, go play inside.”

“Aw! Why?”

“It’s time for the adults to talk.”

Anissa grabs-up her crayons and paper with a pout. “It’s always time for the adults to talk.”

“I’ll be in soon. Then I’ll play whatever you’d like.” Curtis promises and he means it. The second he’s done talking to his parents about this he’ll want the excuse, the distraction.

Anissa holds-up her pinkie and he wraps his around hers. Appeased, she leaves and his parents’ eyes are on him again.

“We were in the middle of our mission, liberating other planets from Galra rule when the old empress, Honerva started causing trouble. Big trouble. The paladins, Voltron really, stopped her, but we lost Princess Allura in the process.”

Simone presses for more details, but Curtis is thankful that he can pull rank and say it’s classified. That he’s shared all he can without being court-martialed. Jackson only asks one question.

“What does that mean for you, specifically?”

Curtis blinks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jackson straightens in his chair. “I mean, what does the Princess’s death have to do with you coming home?”

Everything. Literally his very existence hinges on Allura’s sacrifice. Curtis bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t say any of that out loud. He knows exactly what his father would say if he knew the whole truth behind Allura’s death. He’d demand answers as to why reality wasn’t restored back to before the Galra arrived on Earth, before they could ever expand their empire, before they became a threat. Why even have the Galra at all? Every human would ask the same questions. The invasion, the liberation; it’s all too fresh. Shiro, Holt, and Iverson had been right about this; to keep it classified. For now.

“I know it’s weird that we’re back, but after everything that happened, we needed to come home. See our families. See that everything at home was okay before we resumed the mission.” See that Allura restored everything correctly, is what he doesn’t tell him.

Jackson crosses his arms. “So, you’ll be going back.”

“Yes, sir. We depart next week, but I’m back on base in two days.”

“So, we have you for two days,” Simone smiles at him, barely concealing the bitterness she must feel to have him for such a short time, before reaching over to take Curtis’ hand. “Two more days than we expected.”

He gives her hand a squeeze before looking over to his father. Heaving a sigh, Jackson gets up, patting Curtis’ shoulder as he walks by.

“I’ll get dinner started. Go play with your niece like you promised.”

And he does, happy to escape. He finds Anissa in her room, playing with paper dolls. He settles down on the floor next to her. He studies the dolls. Each doll is drawn-up eerily like the paladins.

“Hey, Nissa. What are we playing?”

“Voltron.”

Of course.

“Oh. Well, who’s your favorite paladin?”

Anissa shrugs. “You work with Voltron, right?”

“I do,” Curtis picks up the blue paladin. Briefly he thinks of how shriveled Lance looked in his infirmary bed after the accident with the Teleduv. An extreme case of dehydration, but it could have been easily so much worse. “You know my friend Veronica? Her brother is Lance.”

“I know. Nadia is my friend at school. Lance is her uncle.”

Curtis picks up the red paladin doll. “Do you know who this one is?”

“Keith.”

“And this one?” He picks up the black one.

“Shiro.”

Curtis smiles at her, placing the doll down next to Lance and Keith’s paper doppelgangers. “That’s right. Shiro’s my boss. He’s the captain of the Atlas.”

“No. He’s the black paladin. He can’t have two jobs.”

“Well, Keith is the black paladin now, so Shiro can be captain.”

Anissa looks at him confused. “Then who’s the red paladin?”

“Lance.”

“But he’s blue!” Anissa picks up the doll, practically shoving it in his face. “See? Blue. So he has to be in the blue lion. Just like the show!”

“The show?”

“Yeah! You want to watch it?”

“Sure.”

The show is terrible and he can’t stop himself from laughing. Anissa shushes him whenever he does. The portrayal is all wrong. Though, he supposes since he never met Lotor or Zarkon he doesn’t know how accurate the characters are there. Anissa has no interest on how it’s different. If it’s not in the show, then it didn’t happen.

“Hey, Uncle Curt?”

“Hmm?” Curtis looks over at her as the credits roll after their fourth episode in a row. “What’s up Nissa?”

“Can we go to the picture thing tomorrow?”

“What picture thing?”

“The one with daddy’s picture. Where you work.”

She means the memorial wall. He swallows and taps his fingers against his knee.

“It always makes mommy and grammy too sad,” Anissa adds staring down the paper dolls in her hands. “Can we go? Please?”

Curtis bites his inner cheek again, but nods. He needs to do this, for Anissa. For himself. After all, it’s his brother.

“Sure thing. We’ll go after breakfast okay?”

“Okay!”

***

The civilian memorial wall at the Southwest Garrison base stands cold and proud. Granted it’s less a wall than an entire room, the dead divided alphabetically by last name. It’s one of the first things constructed after Earth’s liberation, a way to pay respects to the non-military dead. Sheltered inside the Garrison with flickering electric candles and places for flowers or other offerings, it’s a decent place to mourn.

I don’t want to be here _,_ Curtis thinks for the second millionth time. He has Anissa’s hand in his and they stand in front of the memorial wall as they search for his brother’s picture amongst the hundreds on this section of wall alone. A tiny hand squeezes his and Curtis swallows thickly. I don’t want _Anissa_ to be here, he corrects himself.

“There,” Curtis points to the little box with his brother’s name on it. Elliott T. Hartfield. “Seventh row, third picture in.”

“What should I tell him?”

Curtis doesn’t know. He closes his eyes and inhales. There was no body to cremate, no service performed outside the mass service provided at the end of the invasion. Elliott’s picture was amongst the first to be submitted. Curtis made sure of that. He had come with his parents for the unveiling. They had cried and Curtis had held their hands as his eyes darted between all the photos of his neighbors, his friends, and his brother.

“We just talk to him. Just like if he were here.”

“Like what?”

“Like what we do everyday. Like I’ll talk about being on the Atlas, and you could talk about school.”

“Could you go first?”

Anissa watches him. Waiting. She is supposed to be learning from him how to deal with death. He sighs and turns his eyes towards the tiny square that is Elliott’s face. If it were really Elliott, he wouldn’t be telling him here. He’d be telling him in the little apartment that Elliott and Raquel had in the city. They’d talk over cheese-flavored chips and beer and he would tell him everything. The first day aboard the Atlas, all their battles, and why they were back on Earth so soon, but it isn’t Elliott. It’s a wall and the only pair of ears listening belong to a kid.

“Uh, hey. We got back to Earth yesterday. We… Well we won the war essentially. We’ll be going back next week, but I’ll be sure to eat your share of mom’s Pompe à l’huile. You know that dry, lumpy monstrosity that we say we like, but we don’t? I wish dad would just make his chocolate cake instead, but he only...”

Curtis stops himself short. Their father made a special death-by-chocolate cake only twice a year. For Curtis’ birthday and for Elliott’s. No more, no less. Had he made it this year? Elliott’s birthday had passed while he’d been off-world. His parents never mentioned it.

He turns to Anissa. “How about you tell him about school?”

Anissa bobs her head and starts slow. Small things like how she and her mother moved in with grandma and grandpa. Then the regular complaints children make. There is a boy, Sergei who annoys her.

“He always picks on me and Nadia,” she huffs. “But Nadia’s uncle is gonna marry a princess one day, so he better watch out.”

Curtis clenches his jaw to keep himself from correcting her. Today’s about Elliott, not Allura. He cannot imagine breaking the news to her that yet another person she admires is dead. He can’t imagine anyone else doing it either.

“He’s mean, but I don’t cry. Big girls don’t cry, right daddy?”

Curtis scoops her up in his arms just as her voice begins to break. Her sniffles rip his heart to shreds. She doesn’t cry or bawl, or sob. He holds her tight just so he doesn’t either. He could punch Elliott right now. Really? Big girls don’t cry? That’s what she remembers about her father? Of all the things Elliott ever told her and this one bad piece of advice is what she’s held onto? How much pain has this little body already endured? Even Curtis doesn’t know for certain. To keep the adults compliant and working, the Galra had taken the children away as hostages.

Anissa has never said what happened at the children’s camp.

Curtis reassures her. “It’s okay, babycakes. Cry. Daddy wouldn’t be angry.”

Anissa’s sniffles turn to whimpers which turn into agonized howls against his shoulder. This reaction can’t be normal. To cry this hard after so long. Was it so long ago now? He doesn’t know. Elliott had passed during the invasion, but between the space travel and the stress of the invasion itself he can’t pinpoint how long ago that was.

When he had lost track?

He walks them over to a bench and sits there, rubbing Anissa’s back, murmuring in a tone that he hopes is comforting. When she tires herself-out, he proposes ice cream.

Her head shoots-up like a daisy. Her shy smile opposes the tear tracks on her face. “Really?”

“Ahuh, you need ice cream after a good cry. That’s what your dad meant by big girls don’t cry. They don’t cry without ice cream.”

“Okay!”

Curtis smiles. “Want me to carry you or do you want to walk?”

Anissa ropes her arms around his neck as an answer. He laughs and lifts her up. They glance back at Elliott’s picture. Anissa blows it a kiss as they say good-bye. Curtis focuses on how big Anissa has grown instead, throwing her like a sack over his shoulder.

She squeals as they exit the memorial hall, “Uncle Curt!”

“I’m sorry? Is that Anissa? Where did she go?” Curtis spins around, playing an old, old game of theirs. He pretends to look around the base, squinting in the bright sunlight.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Little hands drum against his back in time with her giggles. “Uncle Curt!”

Curtis notices a few people walking around, none from the Atlas that he can see. He taps a passing cadet on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, have you seen a little girl? Dark-skinned, braided-hair, last seen wearing orange tennis shoes.”

The cadet answers that she’s behind him and he whips around, much to Anissa’s delight.

“I think you need your eyes checked. There’s no one behind me.” Curtis turns back to the cadet, bouncing so he jars Anissa slightly. It makes her laugh. The unamused cadet just walks away. Curtis looks for another person to ask, perhaps someone who will play the game a little better.

He spots Captain Shirogane.

Their eyes meet and it is too late to pretend that he didn’t see him. Curtis smiles and tries his best to ignore the fact that he and Shiro haven’t spoken on a personal level in weeks. He hopes that Shiro will forgive him for suggesting therapy long enough to entertain Anissa. He jogs over to him, jostling Anissa as he goes.

“Shiro! I’ve lost my niece. Have you seen her? She’s a little over a meter tall and likes ice cream.”

“Shiro?! Uncle Curt, put me down! I wanna meet Shiro!”

Shiro’s eyes flit to Anissa’s struggling form and a grin curves onto his lips. “Sorry, Sergeant. I haven’t, but I do think I hear something.”

“Uncle Curt!”

“I think I hear it too,” Curtis replies, spinning around as if looking for the source before dropping Anissa to her feet. He acts surprised to see her. “Nissa! Where did you go? You know you’re not supposed to run-off!”

Anissa pays him no mind however. She stands staring at Shiro. Or at least, at his arm. Curtis opens his mouth to rebuke her, to remind her that it was rude to stare, but Shiro beats him to the punch.

“Like my arm?”

“It’s weird.” Anissa wrinkles her nose.

“Anissa!”

“No, it’s alright. Here.” Shiro sends his arm to float behind his head and gives himself bunny ears. “That better?”

Anissa giggles behind her hands, “No!”

“No?” Shiro feigns disappointment, Curtis can tell by the twinkle in Shiro’s eyes. He has seen it before, but he can’t recall when exactly. “Who doesn’t like bunny ears? What about on him?”

Anissa giggles harder as Shiro’s prosthetic moves behind Curtis’s head. Curtis makes a funny face and Anissa practically cackles. His eyes meet Shiro’s and he knows they’re thinking the same thing.

At least the war hasn’t taken this away.

“What brings you and your niece to base?”

It’s a friendly question, but Curtis bristles at it anyway. He doesn’t want to talk about Elliott right now. He grabs Anissa by the shoulder.

“We’re getting ice cream. Care to join us?”

“So long as my arm isn’t too weird.”

“Well, Nissa?” Curtis turns to his niece. “Is it too weird?”

“What other tricks can you do with it?” She asks.

As they walk to the commissary, Shiro demonstrates exactly what he can do. He can turn it 360 degrees, he can lift a crazy amount of weight; a skill he demonstrates by lifting Curtis right off his feet by the back of his collar. A feat Curtis does not appreciate. As they stand in line, Shiro shows her his favorite trick besides the bunny ears.

“Watch this.”

His arm races across the base only to tap a passing James Griffin on the shoulder, ducking out of sight when James turns to look who it is. That earns a lot of giggles. Especially when James shouts after the fourth time it happens.

They all get chocolate cones, because they all agree, if chocolate is an option, why bother with anything else?

“Do you have any other plans for today?” Shiro asks.

Curtis shakes his head, “not until dinner tonight, why?”

“I don’t know if you’re interested, but…” Shiro trails off, “would Anissa like a tour of the Atlas?”

“Yes!” Anissa almost drops her cone as she wheels around. “Please, Uncle Curt? Please, please, please, please?”

“Relax, I wasn’t going to say no.”

As a matter of fact, Curtis is excited by the prospect of seeing the Atlas too. It’s only been a day, yet it’s felt like forever since he’s been aboard. He misses it. Her.

Chocolate ice cream streaks over Anissa’s fingers as she stares at the massive ship above her.

“Whoa.”

Curtis agrees with her. The Atlas is aptly named after a titan of myth; capable of holding the entire sky. And right now, teams are working to fix the damage to the hull that Hunk and Pidge had hastily patched. As they approach, the workers stop to salute Shiro.

“Captain!”

“How’s our status?”

Curtis misses the response as Anissa tugs him down to hiss in his ear, “he’s really the captain?!”

He gives her a smirk, “I told you didn’t I?”

Her face scrunches in confusion. “Then who’s in the Black lion?”

“Keith.”

“Then who’s in red?”

“Lance.”

“Then who’s in blue?”

His heart stops as Shiro chimes in.

“No one right now.”

He watches Shiro’s face, to see if there’s anything that will come out of it. A tear, a faked smile. But no, he states it like a boring footnote before leading Anissa onto the loading ramp. He follows behind them.

Shiro takes point on the tour. Anissa hangs on his every word, but Curtis hears almost none of it. Not that he needs to. He worked with Sam and the other engineers on the Atlas plans. He must have spent months on coding for the communications system alone.

Curtis knows suddenly why he missed the Atlas as much as he did. There’s a hum, just under the surface of the ship, even when it’s docked. It’s like a kitten purr. His fingertips trail over the walls for just a second and he swears that the kitten purr grows stronger at his touch. Like the Atlas is welcoming him back. He places his whole palm against the metal. Maybe the Atlas can feel how happy he is to be onboard.

“Right, Curt?”

Shiro and Anissa look at him from across the mess hall. His hand drops to his side. When did they get here? He really has been zoning out.

“Uh, right?”

Anissa throws her head back and laughs. Shiro gives him a guiltless guilty look. Curtis knows that he’s the butt of some joke between them, but he can’t care. Neither can he let it stand.

“What are you laughing at?” He crosses the room and hefts Anissa into the air before tickling her. “What’s so funny? Huh? Huh?”

Anissa squirms and squeals. She manages to escape, tearing between empty tables to get away.

“It’s a shame you don’t like kids,” Shiro comments as they follow her.

“Isn’t it just?” Curtis smiles as Anissa hides behind a corner. “Thank you for doing this; she’s loving it.”

“ _I’m_ loving it. Whenever I could I’d go do the promotional visits at the schools. That’s how I met Keith.”

He tries to remember Shiro from the Kerberos mission. Growing up in the shadow of the Galaxy Garrison a lot of townies like himself prided themselves on pretending it didn’t exist. He only cared about garrison news as it pertained to Veronica and he didn’t enlist until a few years before the invasion. He can’t picture Shiro as anything besides the Atlas captain.

Anissa jumps out to scare them before he can respond. He feigns fright and so does Shiro.

“I got you!”

“You did! What do you want to see next?”

“I wanna see the lions!”

Curtis freezes all except for his eyes. Those glue onto Shiro’s face. It’s only a matter of seconds before Shiro drops to Anissa’s level and calmly explains that no one visits the lions without the paladins present. Protocol. Rules. And you must always follow the rules when dealing with giant, mechanical, slightly magical space cats. He wants to applaud Shiro’s improvisation. It’s the second time he’s gracefully avoided talking about Allura.

“How about the bridge?” Curtis suggests instead.

They take her up and after examining the bridge for three seconds she marches over to Shiro’s control panel and states that she’s now the captain. She shouts nonsensical orders and waits for them to fulfill them. And both of them, two highly ranked military officers, hardened by an intergalactic war immediately do her fake-bidding.

“Hoist the sails!”

“Aye captain!”

“Form Voltron!”

“Forming!” They mime the lions with their hands, forming Voltron in a tangle of arms and fingers. Curtis’s entire body shakes from holding back his laughter. He can’t even remember the last time he did something this ridiculous.

“Walk the plank!”

That last one stops them in tracks. Shiro looks at him with a shrug, his head tilted to the side.

“Do we even have a plank?”

“We have airlocks.”

Shiro shakes his head, “Not quite the same effect.”

“Huh. Guess it’s time for munity then.”

“Guess so.”

Anissa, confused and a little grumpy as to why they haven’t walked the plank, crosses her arms. “What’s a munity?”

“This,” Curtis walks over to her and hoists her up by her ankles, dangling her so that the beaded ends of her braids clack against the floor. “To the brig?”

“To the brig,” Shiro nods as he opens the door to the bridge.

Anissa wiggles against the hold. She reaches up in vain to slap Curtis’s hands away. “Stop! Stop!”

When Curtis doesn’t immediately release her, she changes tactics. She punches at Curtis’ shins and knees. Anissa grows frustrated when he tells her that it isn’t nice to hit people and she hits harder. It’s when she calls him stupid and nearly trips him by grabbing at his pant leg that he sets her back on her feet.

“Hey.” Curtis kneels, catching her flailing arms. He’s aware of Shiro’s eyes on him. “If you can’t behave we’re going home.”

“No!”

One of Anissa’s skinny little wrists manages to break free and she tries to make a run for it. Curtis holds onto her other wrist harder and she cries that he’s hurting her. She tries prying his fingers off with her free hand.

“Anissa!”

“Let me go!” She all but shrieks.

She is in full tantrum mode. And there is only one way to deal with a child in full tantrum mode. Curtis heaves her under one arm and ignores her kicks and punches and screams.

“Thanks for the tour,” Curtis says, wincing as Anissa lands a punch that is sure to leave a bruise. “Really, it’s the most fun I’ve had since we got back.”

Shiro gives him a sympathetic smile. “Same here. Do you need help with her?”

“She’ll tire herself out eventually. It’s just been a big day for her.”

“I’ll walk you guys out.”

“Thanks.”

On the way home Anissa falls asleep in his dad’s old work truck. He decides not to tell Raquel about the tantrum; best to just tell her the happy highlights. When Anissa wakes up later, she finds him reading emails in his room. She crawls into his lap and hugs him. She doesn’t say she’s sorry, but he doesn’t ask her to say it. Instead, he talks her through the incident, the way his parents used to talk him through his less than brilliant moments as a kid.

In the middle of this one-on-one chat his tablet lights-up with an email from Shiro.

_Let me know how Anissa’s doing?_

Curtis takes this opportunity to have Anissa tell Shiro herself.

“Hey,” Curtis greets Shiro through the video call. “Excuse us if we’re interrupting your plans, but Anissa had something she wanted to say to you.”

“Hi Shiro.”

“Hi Anissa,” Shiro gives her a soft smile. “I had fun playing with you today.”

Anissa curls into Curtis’s arm, but he nudges her and she overcomes her sudden shyness to apologize. “Me too. Sorry I was mean. I was tired.”

“I understand how that can make anyone mean, thank you for the apology. Do you think I could talk to your uncle alone for a second?”

“Go ahead,” Curtis instructs her, “Tell grandpa I’ll come help with dinner in a minute.”

Once Anissa shuffles out of his bedroom, Curtis gets up and closes the door.

“What can I help you with, sir?” He assumes whatever Shiro wants to discuss has to do with work. Apart from this afternoon, it has been only business between them since Lance’s accident with the teleduv.

Shiro tugs on his shirt collar from the other side of the screen, “Well, it’s just my turn to apologize. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the last few weeks.”

“Oh, you mean about how you wouldn’t look at me or speak to me unless absolutely necessary?”

Curtis does not mean to sound as snarky as he does when he says this. Yet, it seems fitting. Afterall, he might have been too blunt, but it hardly constitutes the cold-shoulder he got from Shiro. Shiro sighs, not in annoyance, but in regretful agreement.

“Yes that. I… I was upset. I was angry that Lance got hurt, I was angry that Allura gave him these marks and these abilities with absolutely no instruction and…and you seem to have a knack for being around when I’m at my worst. I was already embarrassed and when you hinted that I needed therapy…”

“It was an overstep on my part,” Curtis admits.

“You had every right to bring it up. I’m sure you only meant the best by it. And if you didn’t, I’m still the commanding officer. I can’t let my emotions rule my actions. So, again. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I would still really like it if we were friends.”

Shiro seems sincere on the screen. Curtis wants to believe it. Shiro has a million and one things on his plate, and of those million and one things, he prioritized Curtis’ feelings.

“Apology accepted. Granted that you don’t freeze me out the next time I suggest something you don’t like.”

“Deal,” Shiro’s relieved smile nearly blinds him. “Are you enjoying your leave?”

It’s too close to a lie to say that he is enjoying it. It’s good to be home amongst familiar objects and faces, to breathe in fresh air and have a distinctive night and day again. But Elliott’s absence is present everywhere he looks. He can’t ignore it here like he can on the Atlas. The Atlas has Veronica and the rest of the crew, an express purpose and goal to distract him.

“I’m enjoying not sharing a room with Iverson.”

Shiro laughs at that and Curtis laughs with him before asking, “what about you? You must be busy.”

“Not especially. I do have a videocall scheduled with Keith tomorrow.”

Curtis blinks. “What? That’s it?”

“Well, I have some work to do too, but I suspect most of my time will be spent on base.”

“You-. Don’t you have anywhere to go? People to visit? Family?”

“I have a room at the Garrison.”

Curtis doesn’t miss how Shiro avoids answering the question about people. A room at the Garrison. No. Unacceptable. Paperwork, and a singular videocall was all that Shiro would have for two days? Had no one thought to invite him somewhere? The Holts? The McClains? The Garrets? Hell, not even Iverson? Curtis opens his mouth and his mother’s voice comes out.

“You’re coming over here. Tonight. Pack a bag.”

“What? That’s really not-“

Curtis cuts him off, “I’m sending you my address now. Dinner’s in an hour. I’ll see you then.”

He turns off the tablet, but not before he sends Shiro the address. He races out of his room, letting his parents know that they’ll be having a guest.


	5. Family

After making the daybed in his mother’s office, doing a quick clean of the bathroom, and setting another place at the table Curtis still has nine excruciating minutes left to wait for Shiro. He talks himself down a million times. Shiro could not show. Or worse, Shiro would show. He’d be here. In his _house_. Dieu, what the hell had he been thinking?

He jumps when the doorbell rings. Anissa shouts that she’ll get the door. His father looks at him from across the counter.

“You invited him, go greet him.”

Sighing, Curtis goes. In the foyer, next to the wood column that has his and Elliot’s heights recorded throughout their childhood, stands Shiro; bag in hand and in casual clothes. He has no business looking that good in jeans and a plain black button-up, Curtis decides.

“Hey,” Curtis swallows. “Glad you could make it.”

“Did I have much of a choice?” Shiro’s joke has absolutely no bite, but Curtis feels guilty all the same.

“Not really. Sorry.”

“Shiro!” Anissa grabs Shiro’s human arm, “Come on, meet my mom!”

“Alright, alright,” Shiro laughs and lets himself be dragged into the living room. Curtis follows helplessly.

They make the introductions before his mother admonishes him to take Shiro’s bag to his room.

“Before he does that though, this is for having me such short notice.” Shiro produces a bottle of something from his bag. “It’s sake from Japan. I found it looking through my old storage today.”

“Oh my,” his mother takes the bottle, admiring the label she can’t possibly read. “Thank you so much. We didn’t expect you to bring anything! How does one serve sake?”

“Um, well you can serve it warm or chilled, but it’s essentially a shot. You’re only supposed to sip it though because it’s…”

Curtis misses the rest of Shiro’s sake explanation as he goes to put his bag away. Once he sets it down on Shiro’s bed he takes a second to breathe deeply. No reason to panic. His mother can make conversation out of anything and Shiro not only shows-up, he shows-up with a host gift. It’s going to be just fine. It might even be nice.

When Curtis returns downstairs, the discussion has turned to portion sizes. Shiro sits next to his mother on the couch while Raquel has Anissa on her lap on the love seat. His father pours out the sake.

“When I came to the garrison, I couldn’t believe how much food they’d give out just for lunch,” Shiro tells his mother.

His mother pats Shiro on the knee, “I understand completely. I have lived in the United States for thirty-years now and I still do not understand the portion sizes. How can you possibly eat so much in one sitting? And my sons, oh they were the worst. I thought I was raising monsters.”

“You have more children?”

Curtis looks at the floor, finds the stain on the rug that he and Elliott made finger-painting. He lets his father answer Shiro’s question.

“Just our youngest, Elliott. He died during the invasion.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Shiro says and even though Curtis knows he’s said it so many times, he does sound genuine. “Even after everything I’ve seen, I can’t imagine what it was like here.”

“We appreciate that.” Curtis looks up to see Raquel smiling softly at their guest, her arms holding Anissa tighter. “And everything else you’ve done.”

“Thank you and thank you again for having me.” Shiro shifts his gaze across the room. When his gaze locks on to Curtis’, Curtis practically hears the cartoonish ba-bump his heart gives.

“So, how about that sake?” Curtis offers as an out of this subject.

Raquel and his mother offer positive responses. The sake gets served, and then dinner. It is actually nice. The conversations stay on happier subjects, only some of their space adventures are brought-up and for the most part, Curtis doesn’t have to talk. The focus is on Shiro and how he moved to the United States, how he became the captain of the Atlas, how he’s never had a French-style dinner prior to tonight. 5 courses and dessert later they all sit around the table tired. Anissa snoozes in her chair.

“Come on, help your old man with clean-up,” Jackson says.

He clears the table as his dad fills the sink with soapy water. Indistinct conversation between Raquel, his mother and Shiro drifts in; the only sound they work with, at least, until his dad asks:

“So, is he your boyfriend or something?”

“What?” Curtis looks up from the counter he’s wiping down. “No, he’s just a friend.”

“And why did you invite just a friend to our family dinner?” His father drains the sink, turning around and crossing his arms.

“Because he was spending the leave alone and- “

“It wasn’t so he could act as a buffer between you and the rest of us?”

The accusation stings. “Dad, of course not.”

“He didn’t know about Elliott. What kind of friend would you bring to dinner, but not tell about your own brother?”

“It’s not that simple.” Curtis bristles. “He’s a new friend. Besides, I’m a little busy helping put the universe back together to talk about Elliott all the time.”

“So busy that you couldn’t give your mother and I a heads-up that you were coming home? Now I understand that a ship like the Atlas can travel pretty fast, but surely there was a point between the decision to come back and the moment you walked in that front door that you could have called.”

“Of course,” Curtis sighs. His father can’t possibly understand everything that he’s dealt with at work and it’s not worth the effort to push the issue. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

His father drops the dish he’s cleaning with a watery plop. Curtis watches him dry his hands slowly, like he’s thinking hard about what he’s about to say.

“I’m not asking you to talk about Elliott all the time, but the way you avoid him and the rest of us isn’t right. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, dad, but I’m not avoiding you.”

“Oh, could have had me fooled. You’re here for two days and how often have we had a real conversation? Once when you got here, which you left as quick as you could and then tonight at dinner and your friend does most of the talking.”

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Curt.” His father’s eyes bore into his. “You’re a part of this family. You can run away and galivant in space all you like, but you had better remember what’s really important. You understand now?”

The way his father trivializes and dismisses his mission on the Atlas hurts in more ways than one. Does he honestly believe that reining-in what’s left of the Galra empire isn’t in Earth’s best interest? Does he not know that Curtis does his job so there are less people who have to die like Elliott did? Or does he think Curtis should have just stayed home? Taken a post planet-side just so he could sit around and be sad about Elliott? Maybe take-up beekeeping or some other inane thing to help him forget about the invasion.

Nodding along he says “yes, sir,” because that’s all his father really wants to hear.

Satisfied, his father turns around restarts the dishes. Curtis slowly returns to his task of cleaning the kitchen; eyes stinging. He pushes his tongue as hard as he can to the roof of his mouth to keep them from doing anything else. His father finishes before he does, wishes him a goodnight and leaves. Curtis gathers himself up before he heads into the living room.

Blessedly, it’s only Shiro left.

“Everyone else already in bed?”

“Yeah, I’m still adjusting to Earth hours again, so I’m plenty awake.”

Curtis sits on the opposite end of the couch from him, only hearing half of Shiro’s response.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks him.

“I’m just… Tired.”

Curtis knows he looks it too. Slumping the way he is and the fact that he can’t even pretend to care that a proper host would be asking after the guest and not the other way around. His dad’s words still swim in his head too quickly for him to catch Shiro rising to his feet. Curtis only flickers his eyes toward the movement.

“Come on.” Shiro offers him his hand. “I know what you need.”

He stares at Shiro’s hand as if it would spend what is left of his energy to take it, but in the end he does. Shiro tries to smile at him reassuringly as he pulls him from the living room.

They tiptoe down the hall. Curtis askes in a whisper what they are doing when Shiro guides them through the front door. His question is answered soon enough as they reach the hovercraft that Shiro rode from the base. Curtis looks at him like he’s gone crazy.

“Isn’t it a little dark to ride?”

Shiro mounts and holds-out the extra pair of goggles to him. “That’s what makes it perfect. Climb on.”

With one look over his shoulder at the house, he takes the goggles and slides on behind him. When Shiro starts the engine Curtis grabs onto him, startled. Shiro chuckles.

“Don’t trust me?”

“I trust you, but this speeder on the other hand…”

Shiro only chuckles more, telling him to hold on before they take off.

They go in no particular direction. Lights from the rebuilt Phlatt City sparkle at them in the distance. The half-moon above illuminates the landscape and gives the scrub and sand an almost ethereal look. Curtis has lived here most of his life, but never has he seen the desert like this.

As they race along the terrain Curtis sees a bit of who Shiro used to be before the war. Before his abduction. Sure, he can’t see his face, but he hears the helpless, exhilarated laughter as they take yet another tight turn around a mesa. If there was ever a man destined to fly, it surely must be Shiro.

They make a sudden jump into the air, rising over an unforeseen boulder in their turn. At this jump, Curtis may or may not have squealed and clutched Shiro’s waist. In response, Shiro pulls to a stop.

“You okay back there?”

Embarrassed and eager to not go back home, Curtis leans towards his ear and asks: “What? That’s all you got?”

Shiro revs the engine and increases their speed. They tear across the desert again, this time ducking under and over outcroppings, making Curtis shout more in excitement than fear now. He’s falling in love with this feeling of being in and out of control.

“Think you’re up for something crazy?” Shiro shouts over the wind.

“How crazy?”

“On a scale from one to ten? Probably a 15.”

“So, a regular day on the Atlas then? Bring it on.”

“Hold on tight!”

“Can do, captain.” Curtis strengthens his grip.

The cliffs wait just ahead. Nervousness sparks in Curtis. He’s heard of base jumping, but never with just a vehicle and unsecured passengers. He breathes in and he breathes out and then they’re over the edge.

To his credit, Curtis doesn’t make a sound until Shiro pulls-up and they land with a hard thump against the seat. Shiro pulls the craft to a stop a few meters away. His heart racing, Curtis takes a second to let the adrenaline course through his system, let himself secretly enjoy the way Shiro has taken his metal hand to secure the hands Curtis has around his stomach.

“When, when you said something crazy-” Curtis cuts himself off with a long inhale, the exhale skimming across the back of Shiro’s neck. “I didn’t expect a free fall.”

“Too much?” Shiro turns to look at him now.

“Maybe,” Curtis admits, but then he smiles. With the goggles and the windswept hair, Shiro almost looks like a character out of some steampunk movie. “But I’m sure I can adjust in time for a second round.”

Shiro turns and scans the cliff-face at his suggestion. Then he taps at the fuel gauge.

“We’d better head back if we don’t want to get stranded out here.”

“Oh. Okay.” Curtis tries and fails to hide his disappointment.

It’s a long ride home. The slower speed reduces fuel use of course, but Shiro weaves them in great, gentle arcs over the sand instead of a straight shot home. It drags out the ride and in the graceful mosey of their pace, Curtis indulges himself enough to rest his head against Shiro’s shoulder. It’s warm between them despite the wind.

When the ride ends Curtis dismounts first, taking the goggles off and placing it on his vacated spot.

“You were right. That was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad.”

They make no move closer to the house. The lights are all out and while the rest of the family sleeps, the ride has left Curtis wide awake.

“Want to stargaze?” Curtis asks. “There’s a pretty good spot in the backyard, and there’s this old telescope I got as a kid and-“

“Sounds great,” Shiro says almost too quickly. As if he’s happy to put off saying good night for as long as possible too.

It’s little more than a shed, with little room for two grown men of their stature, but they squeeze in. Shiro sits cross-legged as Curtis calibrates the telescope.

“Anissa seems to be a big reader.” Shiro tries to fill the silence.

“Those are actually mine,” Curtis says looking up from the lens to peer at the pile of books that Shiro must be talking about. “I used to come here all the time to study. Who knows if they’re still legible or not.”

Shiro tests that theory by picking one up. It’s heavy and dusty with a cracked spine, but the pages remain intact. Not that Curtis can read the print from where he stands. He leans over for a better look.

“Is this… Russian?"

“Bulgarian,” Curtis confirms after he peers at it for a moment.

“You speak Bulgarian?”

“Used to, had a programming friend who spoke it. She sent that to me so I could practice.”

Shiro hands it to him. “Read some.”

Curtis rolls his eyes but takes the book anyway. He leans to get as much light as possible from the little window. His words come out slow, clumsy as he tries to sound out the language, but hopefully it sounds impressive to Shiro.

“What did you say?” he asks after Curtis finishes.

“I have no idea.”

Laughter tumbles out of both of them. It isn’t particularly funny, but it feels so good to laugh that he doesn’t care. They laugh until their sides hurt. With the notion of stargazing all but forgotten Cutis joins him on the floor. Their knees touch.

“You don’t happen to speak Japanese, do you?” Shiro looks hopeful.

He thinks for a second before trying, “Domo arigato? Konichiwa? Baka? Gomenesai, senpai?”

“You’re such an otaku!” Shiro teases with another laugh. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Curtis half-smiles half-smirks. “I’d like to learn though, know anyone who’d be willing to tutor me?”

Alone as they are, as close as they are in the thin light of the half-moon, Curtis could have been flirting. Curtis hears it, feels it. Maybe if circumstances were different. Maybe if he and Shiro had been friends for just a little longer, maybe if he hadn’t just had a squabble with his father, and maybe if he had any sign from Shiro that he was interested, maybe he would flirt.

“Hai,” is Shiro’s reply.

They start pointing at things around them, repeating words and practicing. He asks Shiro not to directly translate, which leads to some interesting miming on Shiro’s part. Curtis jokingly calls him sensei and Shiro _giggles_ when he stumbles over certain words.

“Arigato gozaimasu.”

Curtis tries and fails to get it right until he just starts mispronouncing on purpose. It makes Shiro laugh and he likes the sound.

“Airy mashed potatoes.”

“Arigato gozaimasu.”

“Airplane go fast?”

Shiro snorts and instantly covers his mouth. That doesn’t stop him from laughing though. Curtis gives it one more shot

“Okay, okay. I think I’ve got it.” Curtis clears his throat. “Air hockey table.”

“Hopeless,” Shiro chortles, but it doesn’t stop him from teaching him more, but Curtis is only partially invested in learning at this point. For the first time since they decided they were friends, Curtis actually feels like they are. He’s seeing Shiro and Shiro is seeing him.

Curtis stifles a yawn after they spend who knows how long in the shed and Shiro ends their lesson. He walks Shiro to his room for the night, points out the bathroom down the hall, warns him that the hot water can go fast in an older house like this one, and lingers when he realizes it’s truly time to go bed. What can he say to drag out the time just a little bit more? To put a happy end on a particularly difficult day?

“Have I already thanked you for inviting me?” Shiro asks just as Curtis considers giving up on trying to delay the inevitable.

“I’m sure you have, but you’re welcome. Even if you were forced.”

Shiro smirks at him. “I’d say that I was heavily encouraged.”

“Then, I heavily encourage you to stay for breakfast. Mom’s making crepes.”

Shiro’s eyes could light-up the entire Atlas. “I _love_ crepes.”

He can’t stop himself, a hand pats Shiro on the arm. “That’s good to hear. Night Shiro.”

“Night, Curt.”


	6. The Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild action violence

Curtis sits with his mother at the kitchen table. She sips lavender tea, making a comment about how the lavender is better in France. Curtis can’t help but chuckle.

“You say everything is better in France.”

“Except the men,” his mother corrects as his father walks in. With a simple grace his father leans down and his mother leans up for a kiss on the cheek. “American men are much better.”

“That’s right,” his father agrees with a smile.

Then Anissa walks in, then Raquel. They sit together and chat, like normal like they’re perfectly happy. When Elliott joins them at the table, that’s when Curtis hears it: They’re all speaking Italian.

No one in his family speaks Italian.

“How do you know Italian?” Curtis means to ask in English, but it automatically translates. He tries again and again, but always Italian.

One by one his family starts singing something operatic. Their faces begin to blur, the music grows louder, and Curtis starts to panic. He reaches for Elliott next to him, but his hand goes right through him. He tries with his mother, father, even little Anissa, but no avail. The song hits an alto pitch.

Curtis’ eyes fly open. He sees the ceiling of his bunk on the Atlas. The reading lamp he left on helps reality settle into place again. He’s back on the Atlas, has been for a month now. He fell asleep reading the mission details for tomorrow. A dream. Just a dream. He relaxes enough to lay his head back down. Just a dream.

 _A dream in Italian_.

Shit.

He scrambles from his bunk, pulling on his jacket and pants as quickly as possible. His rustling wakes Iverson.

“What the hell, Hartfield?”

“Where’s Slav’s quarters?”

“What?”

Curtis shakes his head, “nevermind, I’ll find him. Go back to sleep.”

He grabs his datapad and leaves. He pulls up the ship passenger log and finds Slav’s assigned room. He bangs on the door until Slav answers.

“What is it, Sergeant Hartfield?”

“I dreamt in Italian.”

“Oh, dear.”

The numbers are unfavorable when Slav includes this information to his calculations. They get to work. For the next two vargas they run scenario after scenario changing minute details to change the numbers. Still nothing. Only a 37% chance of success that used to be 98%.

With only a varga left before mission brief, Curtis asks, “what if we don’t make a lot of small changes? What if we make a big one? Like what happens if-“

They start running the scenarios again. 44%. Then 75%, and finally when Curtis proposes the change that he and Slav have been avoiding, it turns to 89.76% chance of mission success.

“You do understand what this means, correct?”

Slav looks at him, clenching together his top three pairs of hands in nervousness. Curtis sighs. He does understand. High chance of mission success increases the chances of personal injury, capture or death twice over, but he’ll take it.

“Let’s go tell the captain. It’s his call,” Curtis stands from his position on the floor next to Slav. He peers at his alien co-worker, the nervous tick of his fingers running together. Curtis remembers how well Shiro and Slav get along in less stressful situations. “Actually, on second thought. Let me do the talking.”

Shiro does not like what they have to say, he especially does not like their proposed solution. But numbers don’t lie. Shiro looks at Curtis and Curtis tries his best to not appear apprehensive under that stare. They both know it’s the right call, but any sign from him could sway Shiro into taking their chances with a worse predicted outcome.

“Veronica isn’t going to like this.”

“No, no she isn’t.”

They aren’t wrong. The second the mission brief is over; Veronica drags him by the arm into an empty side hallway.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!”

“I dreamt in Italian, Nica.”

Understanding dawns on her face; turning her anger into deep concern in milliseconds. She steps forward and throws her arms around him.

“Does it _have_ to be you?”

Curtis returns the hug. He sinks into the familiar feeling of her head at his shoulder, her arms snug around his ribcage. It settles the trepidation rolling around in his stomach.

“It does.”

Veronica pulls back, “But you have so little field experience!”

Yes, that’s why the personal risk is so high. Curtis doesn’t tell her that, he didn’t let Slav tell the captain that either.

“I have my training, just like the rest of the garrison. I’ll be fine.”

She swats his arm before hugging him again. This time tighter. “You better. I am not going back to Earth and telling Simone and Jackson that they’ve lost you too. You can come back maimed, but that’s all I’m allowing.”

He laughs against her hair, “alright.”

Someone clears their throat behind them. Stepping back he sees James Griffin waiting on him. With three squeezes to Veronica’s hand, he turns to the junior officer.

“Ready when you are.”

***

The mission is simple. The Atlas and three of the MFE fighters along with some rebels will engage the pirate armada while a small two-man team infiltrates the main ship. The main ship is closed circuited; no way to hack into their power source and systems from the outside. Plus, after the setbacks during their engagement with War Lord Lahn, they don’t want to use EMPs to disable the armada.

Curtis has worked with Griffin a handful of times, but never in the field. And despite his higher rank, he’s happy to follow Griffin’s more experienced lead. He’s happy to follow a baby turtle if it means a successful mission. 12 planets rely on them taking down this fleet. 12 planets, just like Earth in need of liberation. 12 planets full of families just like his waiting to start again.

They sneak aboard the mothership by taking Griffin’s ship to get in close and then the jet packs in the back of their suits. The ship returns on autopilot to the Atlas, while the other MFEs provide cover. As an extra protection, there are no comms linking them to the Atlas. Once they’re inside, they’re on their own.

They’re lucky thus far, the airlock they came in opens up to a cargo hold. All the regular guard are currently occupied at battle stations, but it’s a long trek to their destination.

Griffin takes two shots as they round the next corner. A sentry drops with a loud clank. They have to fire fast at the second one. Disabling its connection with the rest of the crew. They have to move faster to get to their target now.

Following the schematics they reach the main frame room. Griffin watches the door while Curtis sets to work.

Except, he can’t.

The passcodes passed to them from a blade agent don’t work anymore. Curtis sees why the percentages changed so drastically overnight. It’s no longer a matter of uploading their virus. It’s a matter of hacking, well out of Griffin’s original partner, Rizavi’s wheelhouse, but not his. This is why it has to be him.

“The system protocols have changed. It’ll take me awhile to get around them and upload the virus.” He informs Griffin.

His fingers fly over the keys, rushing now. He has only a few minutes before the next patrol comes through. Or, someone notices how many sentries have gone offline. He gets past the first firewall.

“How much longer?” Griffin asks.

“A few more minutes.”

“We don’t have a few more minutes.”

“That’s what your blaster’s for, isn’t it?” Curtis doesn’t need to hear what he can’t do or what he doesn’t have. He needs solutions.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters to himself.

“In coming!” Griffin warns just a little too late as an energy beam lands close to Curtis’ head.

Turning, he provides cover fire so Griffin can take down the sentries. Time’s up.

“We’ll get pinned down if we stay here. We’ve got to go.”

“No.” Curtis’ eyes dart around, looking for options. 12 planets. 12 planets, 12 planets, 12- the door switch.

“Seal me in.”

“What?”

“Close the door, destroy the switch, and make your escape. I’ll stay and disable their systems.”

Griffin hesitates, even lowering his weapon in surprise at Curtis’ plan. They don’t have time to go back and forth about this, so Curtis pulls rank.

“That’s an order, officer!” he barks, turning back to the control panel. Behind him the door closes and he jumps at the sound of the blast. He’s trapped. Just like he wanted. Merde. Fuck. Quiznack.

He’s chipping away at the 3rd firewall when the crew realizes where he is and what he’s doing. After a few doboshes of pounding on the door the high pitched-grinding tells Curis that they got a powertool to cut their way in. Curtis stops his hacking attempts and stands.

So much for finesse.

He yanks the screen off its rightful home, tossing its usesless corpse behind him as he studies the hardware inside the console. He doesn’t know enough about Galra hardware to know which part of it to dismantle, so he starts blasting it to pieces. He goes a little overboard, his aim taking him all over the room, trying to take-out everything and anything that makes this ship fly. Something he hits does the trick, because the artificial gravity turns off.

The pirates halt all attempts to enter. For a happy second, Curtis imagines them floating as helplessly as he does, desperate to fix what he’s broken. That happy second ends once he realizes that blasting things sets said things on fire. Things on fire produce smoke. Smoke that he’s currently choking on.

“Merde.”

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, his attention is drawn away from the smoke problem as the door to the room flies right into him. Pushing him right into one of those on-fire-things.

He howls at the pain kicking, clawing to get himself out from under the door. The left side of his ribcage screaming, bleeding, probably broken. He smells burnt flesh. He frees himself but dislodges something else with his foot. The lights go out. His panic triples, quadruples.

He faints from it all.

***

Curtis wakes in the infirmary. Half of his body immobile for the bandages wrapped around him, the other half immobile for the tall latina woman who’s stuffed herself onto the bed with him. For the longest time he stares at the top of Veronica’s head, at the hands she has wrapped around his arm. He wants to wake her and ask about the out-come of the mission, but if she’s here and he’s here it can’t be that bad.

Eventually he turns his attention to the rest of the room. It’s full to his surprise. Rizavi is curled up on the floor like a cat, Griffin in the seat above her. Both dead asleep and looking none too worse for wear. Iverson dozes in a chair, his feet propped at the end of Curtis’s bed. Slav sleeps over his shoulders, like a neck pillow. Curtis wishes he had a camera.

“You’re awake.”

The soft, surprised voice belongs to Shiro, who stands in the doorway. Curtis smiles. The light from the hallway sets off Shiro’s hair like a halo. Curtis blames this passing thought on the drugs they must have him on.

“Barely,” he whispers back, “how was the mission?”

“Successful. We’re already in the second stage of stabilizing the system.”

Curtis closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. Even with medication it hurts to breathe too deeply. “That’s great.”

Shiro moves forward and lays his human hand over Curtis’, “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’m needed back on the bridge. And it looks like you have plenty of support here. I’ll visit once things settle down.”

“I look forward to that, captain.” Curtis turns his hand and gives Shiro’s a long squeeze. It’s nice and warm and it fits. How about that. “Give ‘em hell.”

“Who?” Shiro laughs. 

“Anyone, everyone. You know.” Curtis doesn’t even know at this point. He doesn’t even really care either. He has Veronica next to him, Shiro’s hand in his and the mission was a success. He’s good.

Shiro, his face caught between wary and amused, carefully extracts his hand. “Get some rest.”

Curtis nods, closing his eyes. His last conscious thought is a prayer to not dream in Italian.


	7. QDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this time! Just some fluff and bonding and maybe learning why dreams in Italian aren't so great.

Four broken ribs, a bruised lung and kidney, as well as 2nd degree burns are his souvenirs from his first field mission. Meaning he’s off duty until he recovers fully. The Earth knockoffs of Altean healing pods help the burns and some of the internal bruising, but everything else will just need plain ole rest. Not that Curtis lacks work that he can do from bed, nor company for that matter.

Slav is a frequent companion in the infirmary. They have bonded over this mission. That, and Curtis supposes that not many people can handle Slav on a regular daily basis like he can. Working in his particular field for so many years has meant cooperating with a lot of Slav-like people.

He teaches Slav various card games and the smattering of boardgames brought onto the Atlas. Chess is their shared favorite. Though, he’s never quite had an opponent like Slav. He asks random questions in order to guess his most plausible strategy. What hurt the most this morning when you woke up? Which doctor did you see today, Dr. Elmhurst, or Dr. Wake? Did Veronica walk in with or without a coffee? Curtis catches on after the fifth game in a row in which he loses after just three moves. He decides that he’ll just lie most of the time and unevenly sprinkle in the truth to throw-off Slav’s predictions.

Slav does not like this and remarks bitterly one day, “So we’re in _that_ reality.”

Veronica, of course visits. Three times a day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner she props her feet up on his bed and complains about how annoying it is that she has to take care of all his duties now too. Mostly she mopes. Acxa recently joined blades and Veronica spends about half of their conversations bemoaning how Acxa doesn’t call half as often as Veronica would like.

“Crazy idea, lo sé, but you could call her when she doesn’t call you.”

Veronica kicks at his leg in retaliation for such a brazen suggestion.

Shiro visits the least often. The few times he does, he comes after his shift is over and is dead exhausted. They mostly talk about work. Sometimes they practice Japanese.

A week or so into his stay in the infirmary, Curtis wakes in the middle of the night. Not an unusual occurrence. Sometimes he moves a certain way in his sleep or brushes his injuries and the pain jolts him awake. Other times he’s slept too much during the day to sleep through the night. Tonight however, he wakes to Shiro next to him, sleeping at a 45 degree angle, one arm pillowing his head while the other floats inconspicuously beside him. Shiro must have come to visit while he was asleep and then fell asleep himself.

“Shiro. Shiro, wake-up,” Curtis sighs. When calling his name doesn’t work he strokes the top of Shiro’s head. “Shiro. You need to go sleep in a real bed.”

Shiro groans and turns his head, “leave me be, Adam.”

Adam. The name sticks in Curtis’s mind like a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. Adam. Adam. Who’s Adam? He knows, but he can’t remember. Without realizing it he begins to scratch gently at Shiro’s scalp.

Shiro groans again, but not from annoyance, “yeah, I love you too.”

It hits him like a meteor and Curtis immediately takes his hand back. Adam Wolfe. Lieutenant Wolfe. One of the many pilots who had died in the first wave of the invasion. And, evidently, someone Shiro had been, or is, in love with. Curtis never knew him personally, but Veronica did gripe once about how all the hot ones were either gay or taken and Adam Wolfe had been both.

Shiro turns his head again, eyes opening to search out the reason for the lack of head-scratches. His eyes widen with realization before he shoots up in his seat.

“Curt, sorry! Must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry. I know you who are. It’s just that I always fell asleep on the couch, or at the table and Adam was the one who…” Shiro stops himself short. “Yeah, just. Sorry.”

Curtis smirks as Shiro rubs a hand over his embarrassed face. It isn’t the worst thing in the universe to be confused for a loved one. A nicer person would just accept the apology and change the subject. Curtis is not that nicer person tonight.

“So, Adam, huh?”

“Yeah. Um, an ex. Before Kerberos.”

“Was it serious?” He asks only out of curiosity. He’s brimming with it. Who used to be so important that years later Shiro still dreams about him? What ex could hold that much influence over Shiro now? Curtis has to know. For science.

“We lived together. So, it was pretty serious.”

Serious enough to live together. Huh. Curtis notes that for later investigation. Maybe Veronica knows why Adam is an ex. Rizavi might be a better person to ask; she somehow knows everyone’s business.

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. No doubt sore from the way he’d slept. Curtis shakes his head at him.

“Go to bed, Shiro.”

“Can’t sleep. You said yesterday that sometimes you can’t either, so I thought I’d come visit.”

How can he not be able to sleep? Curtis just woke him. Maybe it is just being alone that keeps him from sleeping. That’s the only difference between the infirmary and his own quarters. Curtis sympathizes; there were a lot of long, dark nights he never slept through during the invasion.

“Fine, you can stay, but I want more details about this Adam,” Curtis shoots him a grin.

Shiro leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. He sighs, “You’re just as bad of a gossip as Rizavi.”

“Not true. I’m much worse.”

“Yeah?” Shiro gives a gruff little laugh, “what, does that mean my history with Adam will be all over the Atlas in half the time?”

“I don’t share gossip. I just collect it.”

“Why?”

“Knowledge is power, Shiro.”

Shiro chuckles again, “and what power can you possibly gain from hearing about my ex?”

“I’ll find out what kind of men you’re interested in.”

Curtis hadn’t meant to say it that way. He meant it as a joke, something Veronica would say, but he’s not Veronica. He’s a man for one thing. A man who could very well be flirting with his captain. Shiro’s eyes glint with interest.

“Now, why would _you_ want to know _that_?”

Shiro’s lips curl into a smile and Curtis dry swallows at the sight. Shiro has a nice smile. A little lopsided with a single dimple just a little too shy to be noticeable at first. It’s nice. Too nice. Curtis tells him something ridiculous to change the subject.

“There may or may not be a plot to set you up with the eligible bachelors of the universe. Bii Boh Bi, for instance.”

Shiro blanches. “Oh, please don’t let that be true.”

“Hey! Bii Boh Bi is very popular. You could do worse.”

“I suppose I could,” Shiro agrees, sounding less than convinced.

“Though, I guess there’s always Slav…”

Shiro holds up a hand to stop him, “don't. Don’t even go there.”

Curtis shifts to get more comfortable. “Tell me about Adam and I won’t have to.”

Sighing, Shiro does tell him. He tells a lot more than Curtis expects. He talks about first kisses and the time Adam tried making sushi and it was a disaster. It’s almost as if Shiro has just been waiting for someone to ask so he can talk about Adam, to reminisce.

“He sounds great,” Curtis says. He means it. Even if there’s an odd, unconscious twinge of discomfort that he really has no right to feel. Curiosity and cats and all that.

“He was,” Shiro smiles to himself, though his brow creases as he continues, “It fell apart with Kerberos though. I was sick, but I wanted to go. Adam didn’t want me to put myself at risk, didn’t want to watch me do it either. I was self-centered and Adam was tired of it.”

The smile fades from Shiro’s face, and his fingers pick at the cuff of his sleeve. Curtis sees both sides. Shiro’s and Adam’s, but only one of them is his friend. He doesn’t know whether or not Adam has a nice smile.

“You were self-centered for the right reasons.” Shiro looks at him then, confused. “You didn’t go to Kerberos because you didn’t care about Adam, you went because it’s who you are. I’ve been watching you pilot for months, merde, I’ve even _freefallen_ with you. You weren’t meant for a life on the ground. I think sick or not, you would have always picked Kerberos over Adam.”

Shiro goes completely still. Even his levitating arm doesn’t bob in the air like it normally does. Maybe Curtis has said the wrong thing, pushed too far again, but that worry evaporates when Shiro purses his lips and then they crack into a shaky smile.

“I’ve never thought of it that way before.” Shiro’s smile strengthens and grows, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The silence between them is warm with understanding and Curtis feels himself flush with it.

“So, why is it so bad to dream in Italian?”

“Huh?”

“When you and Slav changed the mission. You said it was because you dreamt in Italian. How did you know that was a bad sign?”

Oh. Curtis does not want to share that. Not at all. He dreams in Italian whenever something awful is about to happen. It isn’t an exact science, just his subconscious piecing together clues before he consciousness catches-up. For the mission, it was the time between when the Blade agent got the intel and when they could use said intel. It had simply been too long, maybe by a just a quintant or so, but still.

Dreams in Italian always equal bad outcomes for him. His first crush and subsequent rejection? Italian, probably because his first crush was in fact Italian. The day his dog died? He dreamt he was Caesar in modern day Italy. The day of the invasion? A chorus of children singing ‘It’s Time to Say Good-Bye.” The mission where Veronica went M.I.A. and was presumed dead? His dead dog singing ‘It’s Time to Say Good-Bye”. The day he learned for certain Elliott had died in the invasion?

“I’d rather not get into it.”

Shiro nods as if he understands and maybe he does. “How many languages do you actually know?”

Curtis counts on his fingers, “Well, ones that I can actually speak and read? 4. English, French, Spanish, and Italian.”

“You’re forgetting Galran and Altean.”

“Six,” Curtis pops two more fingers and Shiro laughs. “I forget to count them since they’re not Earth languages. Though, I guess Galra is now with how much influence it has.”

“And soon you’ll have Japanese.”

“Yeah.” Curtis tosses a pillow at Shiro, teasing. “If my tutor ever actually teaches me anything.”

“Hey, we had a lesson just last night!”

“You taught me the word for summer.”

“You have to know your seasons.”

“Not in space!” Curtis half-shouts, half-laughs, “when am I going to use _Natsu_ in space?”

“With me when I ask what your favorite season is.”

“I don’t have a favorite season.”

Shiro frowns, his eyebrows high and eyes wide as if the statement has pelted him with an undeserved snowball, “what?”

“In my opinion they’re all awful. Winter’s too cold, spring’s too rainy, summer’s too hot and fall’s too windy.”

Shiro starts in on all the many reasons he should love the change of the seasons. A mundane topic. A mere step above elevator small-talk. Still, Shiro makes a passionate argument, that dimple showing again whenever Curtis concedes a point. Soon, Curtis stops debating him, and just watches the emotion filter across Shiro’s face.

“What?” Shiro eventually asks.

“Nothing. Just that Bii Boh Bi doesn’t deserve you. I’ll have to tell the committee to strike that option.”

Shiro chuckles, “Please do.”

They talk for at least another varga. Curtis caves and learns the names of all the seasons. It leads to a discussion of Shiro’s childhood in Japan. And like before with Adam, it’s as if Shiro’s been waiting for a willing ear. Shiro talks and talks and talks. And Curtis listens. He learns.

Shiro’s parents died before he was old enough to remember them and he was raised by his grandparents in the countryside of the Kanto region. He learned mechanics from his grandfather, who fixed up farming equipment. It was his grandmother who taught him the constellations, who helped him study for his entrance exams and encouraged him to join the space program and transfer to the galaxy garrison.

“I’m just saying, you’ve never known real comfort until you’ve sat under a kotatsu. My grandfather would have to drag me out from under it when I was a kid.”

“Sounds nice,” Curtis smiles at Shiro and catches his stifled yawn. “I’m keeping you up.”

“No, no. It’s alright.”

“Okay, but you should just hop in the bed next to mine. That way if you fall asleep again it’s at least comfortable.”

“You’re a mother hen,” Shiro stands and shuffles over to the other bed. “Think the orderlies will mind?”

“You’re the captain. Even if they do mind, they won’t say anything.” Curtis’s eyes follow Shiro as he climbs into bed, immediately taking a pillow to set under his shoulder bracket so he can comfortably lay on his side.

“I’ll only abuse my station this once then,” Shiro sighs his eyes falling closed, “What were we talking about?”

“Kotatsus.”

“Mmm. Yeah. They’re the best.”

Shiro drifts off to sleep in less than a second after that. Curtis doesn’t take offense, his own eyes sting a little from being open for so long. Between the conversation and the company in a once empty room Curtis sleeps like a baby for the first time since the mission.

* * *

The next six nights of Curtis’ stay in the infirmary, Shiro crashes on the bed next to him. It goes without discussion. He appears and they spend however much of the evening together before one of them passes-out. Curtis often falls asleep to the soft rumbling of Shiro’s snores. The last thing he sees is the rare, lovely sight of Shiro at peace.

Veronica of course, has her own presumptions about what he and Shiro do. She stares at him from her spot at the foot of his bed. His feet resting on her crossed legs.

“You… talk? That’s it?”

“Sometimes we play cards,” Curtis says before biting into his fruit gelatin. He swallows quickly, trying not to think of whatever alien substance was used in its creation. “He refuses to play chess with me.”

Veronica snorts, “Do you blame him?”

He doesn’t. Half the ship has heard of an especially intense match between himself and Slav. Mothers had been insulted, the beginnings of a blood feud insinuated, and several pieces threatened to disappear into various body cavities. Still, he thinks it’d be nice to play with Shiro. See how his real-life battle tactics played out on the board. Curtis would bet he’s good at it. Not Slav level, but good.

“Francito, are you even listening to me?”

“Um? No?”

She flicks his socked foot. “What’s the deal with you two?”

Curtis can see exactly where this line of questioning goes. It’s not a journey he wants to take yet. “What’s the deal with you and Acxa?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?” He grins, earning himself another flick. “Hey, I get discharged in like a varga or two. Let’s talk about that.”

“Boring. Much rather talk about the little puppy-love thing you’ve got going with the captain.”

“I think you’re just jealous that I have a new friend.” he reaches forward and pulls her down against his chest. He squeezes tight and smiles at the lack of pain. Plopping a big, noisy kiss to the top of her head he adds, “don’t worry my Nicky-Nica. You’re still my favorite.”

Veronica wiggles to settle her weight more comfortably. “Re-direction is a classic Awkward Francito maneuver. Now, the question is: do you not want to talk about it because you’re not sure how you feel about it or because you’re not sure how he feels about it?”

And there it is. The real reason that Veronica’s his favorite, why she’s been his favorite for 15 years strong. He has his own strengths sure, but Veronica has a way of taking a big, complicated mess and turning it to something clear-cut.

He shrugs, studying a seam in the ceiling. “A little of both?”

“Fair enough.”

The alarm blares. Everyone to their battle stations. They’re both out of the bed and running towards the bridge before any medical staff can insist he stays in bed.

“Report!” Shiro enters just as he and Veronica get to their respective workstations.

“Sir!” Iverson beats them to the punch, “We’ve got incoming unknown creatures. They’re big.”

“How many?”

Curtis counts, his eyes wide. “3. 1 on our starboard 2 aft.”

“Shields up. Initiate evasive maneuvers. Put the MFEs and the Yellow Lion on standby.”

None of it works. The creatures are almost too Cthulu-like with limbs too long and dexterous to avoid. They scramble the MFEs and the Yellow Lion, have them draw attention as Shiro transforms the Atlas. Even when firing all defensives, even with their shields. It fails.

Each of the creatures grab a limb of the Atlas and pull, leaving the poor ship to flail one useless fist as it’s being drawn in a medieval execution.

Curtis groans, heaving a breath as if he can feel the pain the Atlas is in. He can, a little. Behind him he hears Shiro struggle to break free of these things. Curtis knows the tentacles have clamped down harder and start pulling with abandon. He hears the warp of metal, the scream of the Atlas.

“Abandon ship.”

Even in the midst of the chaos, the whole of the bridge crew pauses. Curtis sneaks a look at Shiro, the tortured expression on his face is too much. Curtis turns back to his maps. His jaw shakes when he says:

“Sir, we’re too far from the nearest star system. Our pods would never make it.”

Shiro and Veronica and Iverson start troubleshooting around the issue. Could the Yellow Lion possibly tow the pods? Could they even get away? Curtis drowns in his own uselessness as the Atlas cries out. They’re dead; the thought goes on repeat in Curtis’ head. They’re dead. They’re dead. They’re- Well. They _could_ be.

“Sir! Play dead!” In his latest act of insubordination, Curtis starts cutting the engines and various other Atlas systems. “They want us dead. Let’s give them what they want and maybe they’ll stop.”

There’s another terrible screech that comes straight from Curtis’ nightmares.

“Do it!” Shiro orders. “Hunk, MFEs! We’re going dark!”

And just like that, as if the ship has been waiting for Shiro’s permission everything save life support goes out. Even the artificial gravity. Everyone braces themselves against their consoles. The Atlas goes slack in the clutch of their attackers.

Every tic that passes has an entire century packed into it. Just when Curtis thinks that even this hail Mary has failed, three tremendous groans signal that Atlas’ limbs have been released. Curtis lets out a shaky breath as he sees one creature pass in front of the window.

“Hold position,” Shiro’s command ghosts across the bridge. “I want those things out-of-sight before we start again.”

While they wait, Curtis nervously strokes the underside of his console with his hand. He did the same thing as a kid when his dog, Lucky, got scared by thunderstorms or fireworks. The poor Atlas, if it has sentience, it must be terrified.

Nearly a varga later, Shiro gives the order to restart systems.

“Put all energy to whatever thrusters haven’t been damaged, and full capacity on engines. I want to put as much distance between us and those things as possible. Let’s maintain radio silence until we reach the next star system just in case. Iverson, Veronica, you’re with me on damage analysis. Curtis, take the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.” Curtis resettles into his seat. He shares a shaky smile with Veronica and he sets to work.

When they leave, Curtis feels the emptiness, and the responsibility of the bridge settle on his shoulders. He’s never been on the bridge completely alone before. To soothe himself and the Atlas, he rubs at the console again.

“Okay, girl. The worst of it’s over. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

With the help of some harried engineers and the Yellow Lion he manages to not only get three of the mega thrusters online, but he manages to squeeze a little effort out of the fourth one as well. As things start looking-up, Curtis practically sings the Atlas’s praises while he works. He promises all the console rubs, a system upgrade and even a fresh coat of paint.

“Captain?” Curtis finally reaches Shiro on Veronica’s personal comm. “We’ve reached the SZF-1117 system. Do I have permission to break radio silence?”

Shiro’s stern, if a little grim expression drops in relief. “You’re a miracle worker. Yes, you’ve got permission. Contact the Black Lion first.”

“Aye, Captain.”

In the very moment Curtis turns on their communication systems, they’re spammed with messages. Mostly from Keith. A few from Coran and Krolia. One from Sam Holt.

_“Atlas! Atlas!”_

_“Attention IGF-Atlas, this is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe of New Altea-“_

_“If you can hear me, send your coordinates!”_

_“Atlas, this is Blade Commander Krolia, please come-in.”_

_“Shiro, I swear if you don’t answer me!”_

_“This is Sam Holt of Earth. Atlas, we are receiving troubling word from Keith and our other allies. Please report in.”_

In the tic Curtis has to process all this information he gets a live broadcast from the black lion.

Keith looks near wild on screen when it isn’t Shiro who answers, “Why are you- Where’s Shiro?”

“Doing damage control. Hang on a tic… There,” Curtis gives him a tired smile, “Your hangar door got damaged in the attack. Had to switch codes so you can use Hunk’s.”

“Thanks.”

Keith cuts the connection. A wormhole opens next to the Atlas, and Curtis watches for the notification that the yellow hangar door has opened. Once it does, he guides the Atlas to a moon with a fairly dense atmosphere. They can’t land yet, but at least they have somewhere to evacuate to now.

Between running diagnostics, contacting their allies and Earth, and helping manage repair operations to what systems were still off-line, Curtis starts to go foggy-brained. He needs sleep, or food, or a cold shower. He can’t tell. He hasn’t felt this exhausted since their fight with Honerva.

“Status report?”

Curtis doesn’t hear Shiro come back on the bridge. He whirls to face him but standing and spinning send him right to his knees.

“Curt!” Shiro crouches in front of him, “Are you alright?”

He laughs out of embarrassment, “I’m fine. I’m not sure what that was.”

He rises to his feet. His knees buckle under his weight, but Shiro catches him this time. With his face planted against the Shiro’s jacket collar, his brain turns to cotton. White, fluffy, useless cotton.

For the second time in a phoeb he wakes in a hospital bed.

Groaning, he turns his head. Veronica isn’t curled next to him like last time. Disappointment bounces in and bounces out of his mind. Looking around the room he finds that he is not truly alone. Seven beds have other crew laying in them. To the other side of him, of all people, are Keith and Coran. Curtis blinks. Twice. He must still be asleep. Coran’s still on New Altea and Keith… Well what Keith would be doing in here instead of being well, anywhere else is just too big of a mystery for him.

Keith elbows the dozing Croan, who wakes with a startled grunt.

“Oh! Curtis my boy. You’re awake.”

“I am?”

Coran elegantly leaps to his feet, stretches and then pats him on the arm. “You’re the worst case of QDS I’ve ever seen.”

“QD- what?”

“Quintessence Deficiency Syndrome. You’re essentially running low on life-force.” Keith explains. “How long have you been bonded to the Atlas?”

Curtis tries, he really does to understand this information. But his mind still resembles the inside of a teddy bear.

“Bonded?”

“Ever get visions? Hear voices? Remember things you never experienced?” Coran asks, his voice entirely too loud.

“Uh.”

Keith sighs and pulls Coran back by the shoulder. “It can be a gut feeling. An instinct. Even just an emotion.”

Oh. He’s had those. Lots of them. Strands of his over-worked brain start knitting together; understanding sparking. The purring. The pain and relief he felt during the attack.

“That’s what that is? A bond?”

“What did you think it was?” Coran asks incredulously. “Do you often have an empathic relationship to technology?”

Curtis winces, Coran still speaking too loud. “Uh, kinda? Humans are weird we… what’s the word… Keith, the thing we do with stuff that isn’t human, but we treat it like it is… Pack bonding!”

Coran turns to Keith shielding his mouth with his hand. “Is he delirious?”

Keith bobs his head from side-to-side as he weighs the logic. “I think he’s talking about stuff like when Pidge took over that Galra drone and named it Rover?”

Coran just looks confused and Keith waves him off, and returns to the topic at hand, “in any case. The Atlas used your quintessence to help repair herself after you guys were attacked. It’s why you feel like crap right now.”

And here Curtis thought it was his own genius that got that fourth thruster to work. It dawns on him what QDS means. Quintessence. Lifeforce. Deficient. Gone.

He looks to Coran in a panic. “Am I going to die?!”

Coran pats his arm. “Oh, no! No, no. You’ll just need to rest-up for a phoeb or so and you’ll be back in tip-top shape!”

That’s reassuring, but then also distressing. He’s barely made it this long in the infirmary. Now he has another phoeb. If he wasn’t going to die of QDS, he might of boredom.

“Of course,” Coran strokes his mustache in thought, “You might recover better on Earth. Being on one’s home planet can do wonders. Plus, it might be good for you to get away from the Atlas. Show the girl if she abuses her friends she doesn’t get to keep them.”

Earth. Curtis blinks. Recovering on Earth. Away from the Atlas. Away from Veronica and Shiro and the rest of his friends here. Stuck with his family. Alone.

Is it too late to take the death by boredom option?


	8. Earth 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there's some family drama coming.

The Black Lion waits for Curtis and other crewmembers to board. Keith will be jumping them to Earth before he resumes working with the blades on Daibazaal again. Against the advice of everyone, Curtis wants to walk on his own power to the ship. QDS doesn’t make him completely helpless. He wants to believe it doesn’t anyway.

The other crewmembers who aren’t as stubborn as he is are carefully loaded into the lion. Curtis pauses. He lays a hand, and when he realizes how tired he already is, his whole forearm against the wall of the Black Lion’s hangar. Leaning his forehead against the back of his hand he gives an exhausted smile.

“Be good,” he tells to the Atlas. “No more draining people’s quintessence. At least, not without them knowing.”

There’s a playful nudge. Veronica and Shiro, who had not so subtly dogged his steps lest he succumb to a bout of dizziness now flank him

“She’s young,” Shiro defends his ship like any good captain. “And she’s learned her lesson. Isn’t that right?”

Shiro pats the wall too, his voice almost a coo. Curtis rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

Veronica punches his arm to gain his attention. “Alright, Francito. Abrázame.”

He turns and hugs her tight. She has to take the brunt of his weight, but he doesn’t receive even so much as a grunt of complaint. Dieu, it’s not the QDS that makes it hard to let her go. Veronica will be busier than ever now. With the Atlas going to a rebel outpost for repair, communication between them would be sketchy at best, non-existent at worst.

Veronica whispers so only he can hear, “you’ll be alright. Te prometo.”

“Yeah, if I don’t die of boredom.” Curtis grins at her, but she doesn’t grin back. Instead she just squeezes his arm.

“Cuídate, okay?”

“Cuídate a ti.” Curtis doesn’t care to decipher her concerned tone right now, so he turns back to Shiro, “that goes for you to, captain. Be careful.”

Shiro smiles, “will do. Get some R&R for us, Curt.”

“Yes, captain.”

* * *

His father picks him up from the base. He had the forethought to let them know he was coming home this time, though he keeps the greater details to himself until later. They hug and then Jackson makes an examination of him from head to toe. Finding nothing noticeably wrong his father narrows his eyes.

“What’s put you on medical leave?”

Curtis tugs at his shirt collar. The sun blazes overhead and he’s gotten used to the controlled climate on the Atlas.

“Can I explain in the truck?”

It takes a few rounds of explanation, but his father finally understands QDS.

“So, the ship. It’s alive?”

“Yeah.”

Jackson whistles under his breath. “Tell your mother that it’s space mono. All this lifeforce stuff will just scare her.”

Curtis can’t help snorting, “and how exactly did I pick-up space mono?”

“I dunno, but you better make-up your story quick,” he laughs as they pull into the driveway.

They barely have room to enter the house between the towers of boxes and various items strewn across the foyer.

“Uh, are you guys moving?”

“No,” his father lets out a long-suffering sigh, “your mother is reorganizing.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Oh, no.”

There’s only been twice that Simone Hartfield has felt the need to reorganize their entire home. When her cat, the one she had in Paris and had brought to the U.S. when she married his father had died. And again, when a sixteen-year-old Elliott came home and told them he’d gotten his girlfriend pregnant. With the invasion and Elliott’s death… Well, it was probably about time to reorganize the house.

“Glad to have you home.” Jackson claps his shoulder before disappearing into the reorganizing ether.

He avoids the inevitable questioning from his mother by dropping his bag in his room. His room hasn’t been touched yet, but that didn’t make him feel much better. The QDS makes the simple act of existing exhausting. With heavy feet, he drags himself into the kitchen.

“Why are there 4 different sets of dishware?” Raquel asks as he enters, drawing any and all attention from his arrival. Thankfully.

“Two sets are incomplete on their own. And we have the chinas for special occasions.”

“How many special occasions are we hosting that we need two sets?”

Curtis drops himself on a barstool by the kitchen island, yawning through his explanation, “they’re Grad-mere Margot’s.”

“Curtis!” His mother rushes him, doing a similar, if rougher examination of him than his father. “You were so vague on the phone. What is wrong?”

He cringes. “Space mono?”

“Space mono?” Raquel laughs as she folds a tablecloth, “been making-out with a lot of aliens?”

“No.” Curtis shoots her a tired glare. Raquel has no room to talk. He can’t quantify all the times he had to suffer through her and Elliott’s PDA. He stops glaring as his mother starts to comb back his hair. His eyes slip closed and he leans into the touch. “It’s more like a case of exhaustion.”

“Exhaustion? Mon chou, then you should go up to bed,” she says.

“No. Comfy here.”

He leans completely into the palm of her hand. Simone chuckles, low and dry and kisses his forehead. She drops her hand and Curtis nearly faceplants into the counter. Raquel cackles.

“Go sleep while you can, Curt. Your niece gets done with school in a couple hours.”

Right. Anissa. She’s going to be loud. She’s going to want to play. Grumbling, Curtis stands. “Fine. Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” They chorus back to him before returning to the previous discussion of plate ware.

Curtis falls asleep somewhere between taking his boots off and getting into bed. He knows this because when Anissa comes home and peels back one of his eyelids to ask if he’s still asleep, he’s slouched face-first against the footboard with a boot in his hand and the other still on his foot. Damn QDS.

“Hey babycakes,” he all but slurs as he tries to right himself. “How was school?”

Anissa breezes by his question to ask him roughly 12 million in return. Why is he home? Is he sick? He doesn’t look sick. Marla’s mom came back from the Atlas too, but she was in the hospital. Why is she in the hospital? Why didn’t the Atlas come with them? Does that mean Shiro isn’t coming? What about Veronica? Nadia wanted her to ask.

Of course, Curtis can only focus on one task at a time, and it all goes to taking the second boot off. “Ahuh. Sounds good. What time is it?”

“Uncle Curt!”

“Yeah?” he yawns, “how was school?”

Anissa pouts and crosses her arms, “you’re not listening!”

Before Curtis can construct a response, Raquel’s voice echoes up the stairs and through the open door, “Anissa Celeste Hartfield, you best not be shouting at your uncle after I told you to leave him alone!”

“I’m not!” Anissa whips herself around and her braids smack Curtis in the face. “He was already awake!”

A blatant lie. But Curtis won’t call her out on it and Anissa knows it. That’s the sacred alliance they’ve had since she could crawl and gurgle out words. He never gets her in trouble whilst she tries very, very hard to get him into it. The latter part makes her just like her father. He tugs her down to his level by the back of her shirt.

“I squeeze the Anissa,” he says as he hugs her tight. She grunts so he does it again. “I squeeze the Anissa.”

“Uncle Curt!”

“Now, I tickle the Anissa.”

“NO!”

Anissa shrieks through her giggles. In the next few seconds, she lands a solid kick to his solar plexus that makes him wheeze for breath and she escapes into the hallway. She stops and sticks her tongue out at him from the doorway before she clambers back down the stairs.

Slow as a slug, he makes his way down the stairs. Raquel apologizes for Anissa waking him up. He insists its fine. The family gathers at the table for dinner. They talk about the restoration downtown. How self-defense is now being considered for part of the P.E. program at Anissa’s school. They talk about how much progress they’ve made on the house. How much they’ve got to go. What color to paint the hallway. Curtis doesn’t participate in these topics, still sleepy, almost too sleepy to even eat. Absently, he wanders if this is how ghosts must feel. This vague sense of participation without actual, authentic interaction.

He hums along with the conversation, eats, and his mother shoos him off to bed. Rinse and repeat for the next three days until he actually wakes one morning with some energy.

They put him on laundry duty. There’s piles of clothes and linens and towels to mindlessly load, unload, and fold. It doesn’t matter that it takes him forever to fold a load, or that he even manages to fall asleep against a pile of fresh towels. He feels productive and good. Human even.

Just after lunch, Curtis works on folding his sixth load when he notices something out-of-place. An old t-shirt that belonged to Elliott. It hangs between his two hands, still warm from the dryer. The bright green of some tequila brand burns his eyes. It’s Elliott’s. He knows it is. He also knows he packed it away with every other piece of Elliott’s clothing before he first departed on the Atlas.

He tosses it aside and starts digging through the pile. More shirts, a few basketball shorts, funny socks with beer mugs and shamrocks on them. All Elliott’s. All mockingly warm and clean and _there_.

“Maman!”

He must have sounded desperate because his mother comes running. She grabs his face then his hands then she sees what he’s holding.

“Oh, cher.”

“What is this doing here?” Curtis asks, his voice hoarse with emotions he can’t name right now, “I packed this. This was put away. I put it in the attic. Why, what is doing down here? Why are we washing it?”

“It’s going to get donated. It does no one any good sitting in the attic. There’s lots of people in need.”

Nothing she says makes sense. QDS. He blames the QDS. He must have tired himself out again. It’ll make sense after another nap. He stands, ignoring the concern, the pained confusion in Simone’s face.

“I’m going to go back to bed for a little while.”

“Bonne nuit,” is all his mother says as he walks away.

Sleep eludes him that afternoon. Instead, he’s stuck thinking and rethinking about the clothes. It is stupid he knows, to be upset about clothes. But it doesn’t feel stupid. When they’d finally reunited, when they realized Elliott would never be with them again, he was the one who stepped up. He packed-up what little of Raquel and Elliott’s apartment hadn’t been looted. He got Elliott’s name and picture on the memorial wall. He got Anissa registered at the make-shift school on base. He helped his father, lamed by the labor camp, get this house back in order. He helped his mother, grief-stricken, feed and clean Raquel when she refused to do it for herself.

He did everything. He never complained. Never asked for any recognition. They were his family. He was the oldest. He did what he was supposed to do.

When he’s called down for dinner, he never makes it to the table. Turning the corner, he sees that the living room that Raquel had spent the last day sprucing is a mess again. It’s not just clothes now. It’s everything that was ever Elliott’s that survived the invasion without him. Empty sketch books, formal shoes, a set of hair picks, a deck of cards with charred edges and the faces of classic cartoon characters. Things that should mean nothing, but they don’t. They were Elliott’s. They have to mean _something_.

The whole family looks at him expectantly. He meets their stares with pointed silence.

Simone speaks-up first, mistaking his silence for sleepy confusion, “we’re going through his things before we donate them. So, take what you’d like.”

Curtis can’t even look at it. Or them. Take what you’d like. And where exactly was he supposed to put anything he took? The bedroom upstairs that his mother was sure to ‘reorganize’ at the earliest convenience? Or maybe the tiny little cubby in his bunk room with Iverson?

Take what you’d like. He’d like it if they stopped staring at him like that. He’d like it if they would stop acting like it’s alright to get rid everything about Elliott after spending every second since his death drowning in his memory. Curtis doesn’t say that, however. It wouldn’t be polite. It wouldn’t be appropriate. It would be too true.

“I don’t want anything but thank you.” He walks away.

His father doesn’t surprise him by following him into the kitchen. Nor does it surprise him that his father is upset.

“Curt, come back into the living room. We’re doing this as a family.”

“No, thank you.”

“Not a request, son.”

His father uses a tone that’s always worked to bring him in line. The tone that says, you’ve already disappointed me, don’t make it worse. Today he doesn’t care if he disappoints his father anymore.

“How long would it take before you got rid of all my stuff?” His question cold despite the fire raging inside of him. “If I had died instead of Elliott?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“It would have been a lot simpler. Better too. Military funeral. Nice flag for you to take home and throw away later.”

Jackson grabs him by the arm and holds tight. His voice turns stormy, “I am not the one who ran off on his family at the first opportunity.”

“Really?” Curtis looks at him incredulously, ignoring the bruising his father is certainly giving him. “That’s what you’re stuck on? That I went on a mission to establish universal peace? Don’t you realize I’m doing it so no one else has to go through what we’re going through right now? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with _me_? The Galra are what’s wrong with me! They imprisoned me. Ruined my leg. Hurt my family. I lost my _sons._ ”

“Dad.” Curtis, stung, softens his tone. “Dad, c’mon you didn’t lose your sons. You still have me. I’m right here.”

“Elliott was killed and you made friends with his murderers.”

“That was Sendak. Our allies are different. They’re good people.”

“THEY’RE ALIENS! _WE’RE_ PEOPLE!” Jackson’s voice echoes from every corner of the house. Curtis flinches out of his grip.

“Dad-“

“Get out.”

Curtis blinks. “What?”

“You speak their language, you fly their ships, fight their battles, nearly die for them. You’re more them than us and I don’t want any Galra in my house.”

Jackson turns away and goes out the back door. QDS or not, Curtis doesn’t have the energy, the ability to follow him out. Mysteriously, air still filters in and out of his lungs.

Get out. He grew-up here. His pictures hang on the wall. His growth chart is etched into a column. His coding textbooks collect dust on the shelves. Hell, this room alone can tell the story of his life. His parents bathed him as a baby in the sink. He snuck his first beer here. He came out to Elliott in the middle of making a bologna sandwich. Told his parents he’d be leaving his cushy consultant job in Paris to enlist at the kitchen table.

Fine. He’ll leave. It never felt right without Elliott anyway.

When he goes to pack, he takes the stairs two at a time. Simone follows him up, asking him what he’s doing, grabbing his hands to stop him from packing his bag.

“Mon chou. Stop this. Your father is just upset. He’ll be calmer in an hour. Give him an hour.”

“Do you agree with him?” Curtis snaps, “do you think the Galra-That I’m betraying you by working with them?”

Her silence tells him everything.

“I’ll stay at the base.”

There’s a beat of silence where she drops his hands and he resumes packing. “I’ll drive you,” she says as leaves the room.

He doesn’t cry. He refuses to. To cry is to give in to the self-pity he feels. Better to just be angry right now. Let it get him away from where he’s not wanted and deal with the aftermath after.

Tears come close to escape when he sees Anissa on his way out of the door. Her eyes are large, shiny. She likely overheard everything. Of everyone, she’s the only one that Curtis wants to explain himself to, but how? He’ll be gone and his family will make sure she thinks the same way they do anyway.

It’s a painless process to get a room on the base. That, or he’s just numb from the drama. Either way, in less than a varga he’s in the barracks, in a private room partly due to his condition, partly due to his station. His body begs, pleads for sleep, but he has to do one last thing before his brain can settle.

Veronica answers after the third dial tone. Her expression is one he’s seen plenty of times. The soft, understanding one that she puts on when a bad outcome she expected happens. Damn analysts.

“Hey, Francito.”

“How’d you know it’d all fall to shit?”

“Because that’s what life’s handed you since the invasion. It was bound to catch-up.” She smiles at him, but only because it’s true. She’s not mocking him. She never would about this. “What did it? What was the straw?”

He’s sniffing already. It’s pathetic. He’s held out this long without tears. Seven seconds on the phone with Veronica and he falls apart. He’s pathetic.

“Well, they wanted to donate all of Elliott’s stuff and when I refused to do it because you know. Why are they getting rid of all his stuff? And it ended with my father calling me Galra scum and kicking me out.”

Veronica blinks owlishly at him from the other side of the universe. Apparently she didn’t predict this extreme of an outcome. “Details. Now.”

So he does, skipping nothing.

The bitter hatred from the man who raised him takes all his strength to explain to her. Because it was his father who encouraged him to learn his mother’s language and culture. He was the one who financed his trips to visit his penpal in Cuba. And it was Jackson Hartfield who sat his sons down one day to explain the very, very long history of injustice done to people who looked like them and how they could never, never be unjust or even unkind to anyone else for the same reason when he and Elliot made the mistake of making a joke about the eyes of the Asian family down the street. His father had taught him patience and compassion and empathy. But the man he fought with tonight…

And then there was his mother. When she dropped him off she didn’t reach to hug him. His mother, who instilled touch as a primary love language in him didn’t hug him. Didn’t pat his knee or squeeze his hand. Instead she unlocked the passenger door and gripped the steering wheel tight. She exerted so much effort to not touch him that her beautiful dark skin turned a cowardly yellow around her knuckles.

“Francito,” Veronica says because there’s nothing for her to say to all of that. She looks heartbroken for him. He’s not one for pity generally, but tonight he needs the confirmation that he’s allowed to feel pathetic. That he can be pathetic and loved at the same time. Because the people biologically programmed to love him the most can’t stand him anymore.

“I’ll be okay, Nica,” he says, but doesn’t believe. He curls his pillow under his chin and pulls the blanket over his shoulders. “Just. Stay on the line? Talk to me? I’m going to pass-out on you, but talk to me?”

“Claro, amiguito,” Veronica says and continues in Spanish. Curtis hears the first half of a story that includes dangerous moon gophers and a very nearly gobbled-up Griffin before sleep takes him.

* * *

Curtis relives the fight in his dreams. Some feature his mother screaming blood-traitor. Others, Elliott’s the one tossing him out. The ones that hurt most are the ones where his father changes his mind, comes to his senses and apologizes. They hurt because he has to wake from them.

When he isn’t sleeping, people scheme to give him company in lieu of his family. First is a visit to the new McClain Ranch. Lance knocks on his door the morning after his video call with Veronica and drags him from base.

“You’re sad, I’m sad. We’re gonna have a great time!” Lance says.

Curtis can’t say that it is a great time. He’s a little too heartsick to be around a family like the McClain’s right now. They’re whole and happy. Sure, Veronica’s absent and Lance spends too much time staring at the sky and touching his altean marks, but they’re all alive and no one hates anyone else. Though, he does have to admit, here at the base of the mountains, shadowed from the unforgiving sun, Curtis breathes a little easier. Just a little.

When he returns to base Pidge Holt tracks him down in the mess hall.

“You Sergeant Hartfield?”

He looks up from his lunch. He has no idea why he’s such a magnet for Paladins these days. Do they have a natural sense for damaged, unwanted people or something?

“I am.”

“Shiro says you’re a great programmer.” She studies him with one eyebrow raised.

“I am,” he doesn’t say it to brag. It’s true. The Garrison didn’t advance him to his current station because of his baby blue eyes.

“Perfect. Come with me.” She walks away without waiting to see if he’ll follow, which he does. He has no reason not to.

Her lab is in a far corner of the base grounds. And ten seconds into entering her lab, Curtis decides it was a sound idea to keep her and whatever her work is away from the main population.

“What exactly are these things?” he asks, extracting a cute, fuzzy bright blue creature from his shirt. Three more of varying colors move to take its place. He holds it aloft, hoping whatever makes it bioluminescent isn’t harmful to humans.

“Dunno. Found them in a garbage heap in space. I call them Fluffy McFluffies.” When Curtis doesn’t move because six more have arrived to dot the length of his pants, Pidge rolls her eyes. “They don’t bite! C’mere!”

She tugs him over to a monitor hooked with various cables to the Green Lion. It might be the smallest of the Voltron lions, but it still needs lay down to fit under the roof of this building. Curtis wonders how it even got inside.

“I keep turning up bugs and I’ve already rewritten it a million times. What do you think it is?”

He turns his full attention to the monitor and for the first time in the last couple days, his eyes crinkle with a real smile.

“This is an absolute mess.”

“Hence why I brought you.” Pidge plucks a Fluffy McFluffy off his head.

“What’s the program for? And what have you already tried?”

They troubleshoot and rewrite and rewrite for the next couple hours. They’re so entrenched in work that Commander Holt comes to fetch Pidge for dinner.

“Katie, your mother says she told you to keep an eye on the- Hartfield?” Holt looks surprised to see him as Curtis stands to salute him properly. “Aren’t you stationed on the Atlas?”

“I am sir, but I’m on medical leave.”

He side-eyes Pidge, “I hope she’s not keeping you from your recovery.”

“On the contrary, this has helped more than anything.” Curtis smiles despite the ache the truth brings. The last few hours have helped him forget. “Thanks for making me productive.”

“Wanna be productive again tomorrow?” Pidge offers.

“Yes!” He might have been too quick to answer because both Holts laugh.

They part ways and Curtis’s heart is light as he goes to the mess hall for dinner. Sure, his eyes sting and his back aches a little from sitting at workstation made for Pidge’s shorter stature, but it’s all good. He loves a good puzzle. Even as he walks his tray of food to his room his brain churns out possible solutions to try the next day.

He sits at the little desk provided and, on a whim, he calls the person ultimately responsible for his uplifted mood.

“Curt?”

He’s called at the perfect moment, because Shiro is in his quarters and is waking up or going to bed. “Busy, captain?”

“Not for you. Everything alright?” Shiro sits down on the other end and leans on crossed arms.

“I’ve been coding with Pidge for hours. It was frustrating and amazing at the same time.”

Shiro chuckles, “I’m glad?”

Curtis taps a fork against his salad, but punctures nothing. He’d love to go into more detail, but he has a feeling it’ll bore Shiro and deep down he didn’t call Shiro to talk about working with Pidge. “So, how much did Nica tell you?”

“She only said you were staying on base.” Shiro’s smile falters and dons a look similar to the ones he got from the McClains and Veronica herself. Curtis fully expects a sympathetic sorry to follow. He never gets it. “She didn’t need to tell me anything else. I heard the argument you had with your dad when I visited.”

“Oh.” Curtis wishes he hadn’t. He had hoped that Shiro hadn’t seen that side of their relationship.

“If it’s anything like what he said last time, I want you to know that you didn’t deserve it. You’re a good man. You do important work. I’m proud to have you as a part of my team. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of that the last time.”

Ultimately, Curtis deflects this because it hits too close to the chest. He has Shiro singing his praises. The man who’s suffered more than any other human at the hands of the Galra Empire is telling him that his father is wrong about him. That his father is wrong about everything. He’ll cry if he acknowledges it directly. And he’s so tired of crying.

“Thank you, though I wouldn’t mind some cliff-diving right about now.”

Shiro laughs and it’s a welcome distraction from the ache he’s set in the pit of Curtis’ stomach, “next time we’re both on leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that, captain.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and the topic changes. By the time they finish talking, Curtis’ salad is half-eaten and room temperature. He drops himself into the bunk. Maybe tonight when he dreams of getting kicked-out he’ll tell his father to fuck-off.


	9. Veronica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! There's some mild gore and action in this one!

The quiznacking quintant finally comes when Curtis gets to rejoin the Atlas crew. He’s cleared medically, he’s been working for the past week and a half with Pidge in her lab while he waits for transport. Repairs on the Atlas after the devastating attack are done and just as soon as he’s back, Curtis can resume his former duties.

He’s so excited he’s positively bouncing when he calls Shiro the day before he leaves.

“Ready to be back?” Shiro asks even though he has to know the answer. “We’re ready to have you back.”

“Even Veronica?”

Shiro holds his hands up, surrendering a fight that isn’t his, “honestly, she’s been working herself into the ground. I’ve hardly seen her outside of meetings.”

“Is that why she’s screening all of my calls?” Curtis says with a playful roll of his eyes.

“I can order her to call you if you want.”

“Don’t. I can always give her shit for it when I’m back,” Curtis sighs happily at the thought of it. Back on the Atlas. Then a second thought makes heat creep up the back of his neck. “How is it that you’re not too busy to talk to me, captain?”

“I have my priorities.”

And there it is. The flirty undercurrent that’s appeared in many of their recent conversations. Curtis doesn’t know what to do with it. Not yet. It’s part of the reason he’s anxious to talk to Veronica. Her perspective is the difference between running straight into whatever flirting with Shiro means and running as far away as he can while retaining his position on the Atlas. In the meantime, he’ll let it happen. Enjoy it a little.

“I didn’t know I was so special.”

Shiro smiles at him, cheeks glowing and showing a singular dimple. “Huh. I guess I’ve got my work cut-out for me then.”

Dieu. The sooner he talks to Veronica the better.

* * *

When he approaches the Black Lion the next morning with the other crew, Curtis notices the feel of his feet on the ground in particular. He’s supposed to be taking in the view of the mountains in the distance, the sky, maybe even the base, but it’s his feet of all things. Even through the sole of his military grade boot he swears he can feel the heat of the tarmac. It’ll be the last steps he takes on Earth for a long time. And while other crew members are waving good-bye to the little crowd that’s gathered, there’s no one there for him to wave to. His feet walk evenly on hard, hot asphalt, but all he can feel is hollow.

“CURTIS!”

His foot skids against the ground mid-step. Turning, he sees a figure push her way to the front of the crowd. Raquel. She’s waving wildly, accidently hitting a man to her right who complains loudly. Curtis takes a breath and then another. Then he jogs over.

“I’m sorry. I should have gotten in touch with you sooner.” Raquel apologizes the second he gets to her. “I needed to see you off though. I hope it’s alright.”

“Of course it is.” Curtis can hardly believe she’s here at all. “What about…?”

“Not coming. I didn’t figure that they would.” Raquel admits. “I should have said or done something that night.”

“There was nothing for you to do.”

“Yes. Yes there was. You know my parents kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant with Anissa. I swore to myself that I would never do that to my own kid, but then I saw it happening to you I just went-“

“Numb?” Curtis fills in the blank almost amused. He’d felt numb too.

Raquel nods, wringing her hands. “I don’t think I believed it was happening. I didn’t believe that it would last a day. Then a couple days passed and then a week and then the news mentioned the Black Lion and I had to come. Curt, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t your house.”

“But you are my family.” Raquel turns burning brown eyes on him. “The day I married Elliott you became my brother and that hasn’t changed just because he’s gone. Jackson and Simone can act a fool all they want, but I’m not losing anymore family.”

His voice warbles, “I don’t want to either.”

Raquel reaches over the barricade and hugs him. Sets her head on his shoulder and squeezes him tight. It reminds him of Elliott. How fiercely he loved. How dedicated he was to family. How disappointed he’d be in their parents, how he would have taken up for him like Raquel does now.

“Once I’m settled back on the Atlas,” Curtis says into her curls “We’ll set something up. A video call that works for you and Anissa. Every week if you want.”

“That is the most Curtis thing I’ve ever heard,” Raquel pulls away laughing, her hands cupping his cheeks. “But yes. Every week. Now, go. Take care of yourself, Space Mono.”

Curtis pulls a face. “Do not call me that.”

“It’s what Elliott would want.”

“True.” He grins and kisses the top her head. “Talk soon, sis.”

As he jogs back to the Black Lion, where an impatient Keith waits with crossed arms, but Curtis can’t care. His footfalls are so light he practically floats.

* * *

Dieu, the Atlas is beautiful. The only thing keeping him from falling flat on the floor to embrace her is his dignity. He makes no promises he won’t later in the comfort and solitude of his quarters. He doesn’t keep himself from dragging his fingertips along the wall as he and Keith walk towards the bridge. The purr is there, as always, but he feels more now. Like wearing a pair of gloves, there’s another layer of emotion. He’s too happy to be back to decipher all of it right now, and through the connection he can feel the Atlas’s delighted trill.

Down the hall Veronica and another officer step out of a conference room. He runs ahead to catch her.

“Nica!” He grins, punching her in the shoulder. “It’s nice to see you’re alive!”

She whips around on him, “have you lost your mind, soldier?”

Curtis throws up his hands, “whoa. It’s just me.”

“Oh. Sorry. Sergeant Hartfield, right? Welcome back aboard.”

“Nica.” His hands drop, a little wounded. Did he do something wrong? “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything,” Veronica’s tone turns suspicious, eyes narrowing, “what is it you need from me, Sergeant?”

Curtis counts to five in his head. It’s enough time, he decides. To wait and see. And while he waits, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. When he reaches five, he snatches the gun from her holster and points it at her.

“Who the hell are you and where is Veronica McClain?”

The officer, Lewis, Curtis thinks, points his gun at him and demands that he return Veronica’s weapon. But he can’t. Because Not-Veronica isn’t denying it. She’s frozen in place. And as Keith catches up and tries to mediate the situation, she takes the distraction to kick the gun from his hand and make a run for it.

“Dammit! It’s not her. Keith!”

And Keith, like the super space ninja he is, catches her. Even briefly running along the wall to do so; something Curtis has only seen in old movies. And he holds his Marmora blade at her throat for good measure. Curtis’s blood turns to ice at the sight. A vision right from his nightmares during and after the invasion. It’s not her, he repeats to himself. It’s not her. It’s not her.

Iverson, probably notified by traumatized onlookers, starts shouting as he approaches, “Kogane! What the hell are you doing? Release Lieutenant McClain at once!”

Keith does not. “She’s an imposter. Curtis says so.”

“Hartfield! Explain yourself.”

Curtis turns to Iverson. Breathe in. Breathe out. “It’s not her, sir. She doesn’t know who I am.”

Iverson frowns as he digests this information. Not-Veronica starts talking behind Iverson’s turned back.

“Iverson, sir! Please! You’ve known me since I was a cadet! There must be some misunderstanding.”

Bile rises in Curtis’s throat. How does this person know that? A lucky guess?

Iverson just shakes his head, “Hartfield. You, Kogane and I will escort the imposter to the brig. Lewis, go tell the captain to meet us there.”

* * *

Not-Veronica sits in an interrogation room. Curtis watches her, him, them? Them. He watches them through the video feed as Shiro, Iverson, and Keith discuss strategy around him, over him. There’s too little known about Not-Veronica, besides the fact that they’re an imposter. A fact so obvious to him, but apparently no-one else. Even the way they sit in a chair is nothing like Veronica. Not-Veronica leans the chair back on its hind legs. Veronica used to have the habit, until Luis cracked his skull in front of her and forever cured her of it. It’s something she’s nagged him about stopping ever since high school.

His jaw clenches. How long has Not-Veronica been on the ship? He does the math and ends up with only an estimate. Sometime after he left for Earth and his failed attempts to reach her for video call. A week tops, a few days at least. Either is too long of a time to have access to all the information and personnel Veronica has at her disposal.

As to what happened to Veronica, why it happened, and who made it happen… Is anyone’s guess.

“Curt?”

He turns away from the screen. Shiro, Keith, Slav, and Iverson look back at him, all serious, all a little sympathetic, and all a lot worried.

“You know that you don’t have to watch this, right?” Shiro asks.

“I do.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You can order me not to,” Curtis presents the option.

Shiro just shakes his head. “Keith, you’re with me.”

Silently, Keith follows after him into the room with Not-Veronica. As they begin, Curtis sees Iverson and Slav stand in line with him from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

“She’s too good of a hostage to kill,” Iverson’s voice, for all its cold logic, is full of assurance.

Curtis watches more than listens to the interrogation. Not-Veronica only becomes more and more not like Veronica.

“Oh, captain. Let’s not pretend you’re some paragon of virtue. That you’re spotless.”

Something shifts in Not-Veronica. A shimmer almost. In horror, Curtis starts to see the, change completely. “I’ve learned your tells.” Skin and muscle tissue begin to sag, hanging from bone and then dripping onto the floor. “I’ve learned your likes, dislikes-” Hair and nails fall out. Bones crack and reform. Skin, hair, and nails regrow into new colors and sizes. “-And a whole lot of that nasty history of yours.”

Surrounded by a pile of still steaming flesh and blood and bone sits Shiro. An exact replica all except for the Altean hardware and his clothes. Keith can’t hide his disgust whilst Shiro can only stare.

“Tell me, Champion.” Shiro’s voice comes from Not-Veronica’s Shiro-shaped mouth. “Who wears it better? Me or you?”

Keith pulls a paralyzed Shiro out of the room.

Not-Shiro turns their head toward the camera and grins wickedly. Curtis sets his shoulders and leaves. In the narrow passageway Keith is trying to bring Shiro out of whatever funk the transformation pulled him into, but Curtis doesn’t have the time to help. He has the beginnings of a plan forming in his head, but he’ll need help.

In a matter of minutes Curtis has Acxa on a direct line. Her lips set in a frown, she asks wordlessly what the hell he’s calling about.

“It’s Nica.” He can’t trust himself to say any more than that. He hasn’t had the time to make sure Atlas communications haven’t been hacked and he can’t risk what little advantage he has.

She blinks and Curtis can see the smallest furrow of her eyebrows.

“Send me your coordinates and I will get there as soon as I can.”

“See you soon.”

After Acxa takes two vargas to arrive, she steps into the cockpit of the Black Lion. The only place on the Atlas that the imposter has had absolutely zero access. She joins Curtis, Iverson, Keith of course, and Shiro who seems better now.

Curtis explains his plan. The others take issue with this or that detail. It relies too much on the cooperation of Not-Shiro. His connection with the Atlas is tenuous and largely untested. He still lacks field experience. What should happen if Curtis and Acxa end-up captured as well? Over this cloud of debate and doubt, Curtis meets Acxa’s eyes. She nods.

“Fine. But let me do the talking and we’ll be taking my ship.”

Shiro protests that they haven’t decided on a course of action, but Curtis has and he’s happy to ignore Shiro’s and Iverson’s and Keith’s reservations. He’s happy to have Acxa on his side in all of this. She’s operated in space for far longer in far more dangerous situations than he has, than all of them. Acxa’s acceptance gets hope to bubble in his chest.

“All due respect, Captain.” Curtis looks to Shiro, feeling thunder in his veins. He’s right. This is right. It’ll work, he just knows it. ”I will commit mutiny if you make me waste another minute arguing instead of rescuing Veronica.”

Shiro’s jaw tenses, Iverson’s already yelling about insubordination, Keith has a wary hand on the hilt of his blade, but Curtis’s eyes are on Shiro. He makes the final call, he’s the piece that will make it work, make the Atlas listen for a call from who knows how far.

“Go. Bring her back.”

* * *

Due to the… Mess in the interrogation room, Not-Shiro has been moved to a solitary cell. When they enter Not-Shiro looks up, clothed this time thankfully, and grins.

“Sergeant Hartfield. I was wondering when you’d show up. And Acxa, darling. How are you?”

Curtis, true to his agreement stays quiet. Acxa also remains quiet and Curtis struggles to not look at her, not nudge her in some way to start. They must present a stonewall, Acxa told him. So, instead he glares at the face of someone he trusts, hating it a little. Not-Shiro frowns, almost pouting.

“Well, what is it?” They gesture to their body. Shiro’s body. “Ah, you do prefer Veronica. I’m afraid I can’t change back just yet for you. Though, I promise, when I do we can still have all that fun we discussed.”

Acxa maintains her silence and so does Curtis. Painfully. They watch as Not-Shiro grows more impatient, spewing insults at them both. Reminding them of their failure at detecting an imposter. When he and Acxa say nothing, do nothing; they get bored.

“Fine,” Not-Shiro grumbles more petulantly than Curtis has ever heard the real Shiro sound.

It’s now that Acxa steps forward, takes out her gun, and blasts the cuff keeping Not-Shiro against the wall into dust.

“You’re free to go.” Acxa steps aside, leaving the way to the door wide and clear. “You can take my ship. Bay six, fifth ship in.”

Not-Shiro looks between them. “What’s the catch?”

“Veronica McClain. Was that not obvious?”

“I don’t have her.” Not-Shiro shrugs.

“You know where she is.”

“The exact location might have slipped my m-ow!”

Acxa, tired of games knocks Not-Shiro to the floor, pinning the one arm behind them and a putting a boot against their skull. Curtis takes a not so secret pleasure in this development.

“I only wanted information, but you had to test me. Now you will take Hartfield and I to where Veronica is being held then we will bring her home. In return we give you your freedom.”

“My freedom is useless if I bring the Atlas and the lions to my front door. I’ll be a traitor.”

“We’ll be using my ship. No Atlas. No Lions. The captain doesn’t even know.”

“He doesn’t?” Not-Shiro tilts their head, white bangs falling to one side. “You’re saying that I bring you two to Veronica’s location and then you’ll let me go? You’ll let me return to my organization with everything I know? Seems too good.”

Curtis fears that their plan is done-for, but Acxa revives it. She slams Not-Shiro’s head back down into the metal grating. She leans in close and whispers so softly that he has to strain his ears to hear it.

“I don’t care about you or your organization. I’ll burn the entire universe to ash to find her. You can either help me or burn with it.”

“Well, you did seem rather desperate for her attention.” Acxa grinds her heel into their scalp and they yelp, “Fine! Fine, I’ll take you to her. Let me up!”

She does slowly and offers no assistance to help them stand.

It’s almost too easy to get Not-Shiro from the brig to Acxa’s ship. Quickly, they have Not-Shiro change into the spare captain’s uniform that Curtis snagged before Acxa arrived. The three of them walk out of the brig together. The only noticeable difference is the arm, but only the highest ranked among them know there’s an imposter aboard and so when one of the passing crew asks, they get away with a made-up mechanical issue.

The hard part is having to act as if this is actually Shiro between them. Curtis is not a good actor; he always goes stiff and awkward. It makes him a terrible liar. It makes it hard to tolerate the poor job Not-Shiro does. His grins are too wide and his walk is more a strut. The real Shiro, Curtis knows, doesn’t have to make a show of himself like this one, he doesn’t like too either. Shio’s quiet, dignified. His big grins reserved for close friends and kids and good food and flying. He walks tall even with the whole universe on his shoulders.

“Would you reign-it in?” Curtis hisses after Not-Shiro waves to yet another passerby; drawing unnecessary attention to the missing prosthetic. “It’s a miracle you weren’t caught from the start.”

Not-Shiro side-eyes him with eyebrows raised in interest, “Oh, I didn’t know you were an expert on the captain too, Sergeant. Tell me, how do you know him so… intimately?”

It’s a jab. It’s a come-on. It comes from Shiro’s mouth. Curtis looks away, confused until he reminds himself that he’s actually knows how Shiro flirts. There’s a little more rasp in his voice, words warm and affectionate instead of suggestive. Curtis has fantasied more than once about how he could get Shiro to say filthier things.

They reach Acxa’s ship. As they enter the cockpit Not-Shiro whistles under their breath, “oh, this looks familiar. So many fond memories.”

“Put in the coordinates.” Acxa takes the pilot seat and points to a place on her dash.

“So cold, Acxa. It’s almost like you’ve forgotten that one night where we- Ow!” Not-Shiro turns and glares moving a hand down the leg to where Curtis has kicked it. Hard.

“Coordinates. Now,” Curtis grounds out.

Not-Shiro grumbles but does it. Seamlessly, they leave the safety of the Atlas and head out into open space. Curtis studies the star charts.

“We’re heading to the Havoukik system.” Curtis’ stomach grows cold as he realizes this is the system he had guided the Atlas to after the assault that gave him QDS. He looks to Not-Shiro. “You’re Havoukikan?”

Grey eyes narrow at him and a sneer smears Not-Shiro’s face. “Havoukikan is what the Galra call us. As if we’re all the same just because we share the same two stars.”

Nearly, so nearly, Curtis asks them what it is in their own tongue. His curiosity almost triumphs over the hatred he holds for the imposter. Curtis bites his tongue and decides he doesn’t care.

As they approach the coordinates of a dwarf planet in the system. One that appears tidally locked with its barely existent satellites. They land on the darker side.

As Acxa and Curtis put on gear to survive the thinner atmosphere and cooler temperatures, Not-Shiro simply shifts again, shrinking and sprouting thick fur. They look like a stumpy, artic werewolf.

“Well,” Not-Shiro’s… Wolfy’s voice is more growl than voice. “Follow me.”

They trek the next several vargas to the star-facing side of the planet. Wolfy points out the compound beneath them.

“You’re not far now. Just down this hill. This is where we part ways.”

“Before you lead us into a trap,” Curtis says pausing to take a breath, “just know if any harm comes to us, the Atlas will be here in tics.”

“We left the Atlas three systems over.”

“Hartfield has a mental link to the Atlas like the captain,” Acxa says, not raising her eyes from her study of the compound’s comings and goings. “He can call upon it any time and it’ll come.”

Wolfy snarls, “you tricked me!”

“You abducted Veronica!” Curtis snaps back.

Acxa stands. “Enough. Get us inside and give us a varga to get Veronica and get out. Our deal still stands. We get Veronica, you and your organization get away.”

“That wasn’t our deal.” Wolfy glares.

“It is now.” Acxa tilts her head, her hand resting on her blaster. “Let’s go.”

Wolfy grunts. “Fine.”

Instead of Wolfy’s original suggestion of simply going down the hill, they take the long way around to a service door. They slip inside. Wolfy tells them to head left and keep going that way. Veronica will be held there.

“Or are we going to alter our deal again, _cariña_?” Wolfy grins, bearing big fangs that make the Spanish sloppy.

Acxa looks to Curtis was an almost bored expression. “Can I kill him now?”

“Better not,” Curtis says, though he’s sorely tempted to see Wolfy dead, “you might alert someone.”

They separate then. Curtis and Acxa creep at a careful but steady pace. When they reach the room Wolfy described, Acxa has to blast the gated door, but it reveals a near-empty storage room. No Veronica. No doors either. Dead end.

“Merde,” Curtis hisses on his breath, “he’s set us up.”

Acxa holds up a hand and gestures for him to listen. There’s a banging sound. But more than that. It’s morse-code. Morse-code is from Earth.

Veronica.

“Nica!” Curtis shouts, careless of their covert status. “Keep it up!”

The clanging continues sounding frantic now. Weapons raised; they make their way to a grate at the far corner of the room. Peering down, it’s Veronica. Just beneath their feet she stands in some type of cell. She’d been smacking her hand against the wall to draw their attention.

“Nica. Nica.” Curtis slides his hand down to reach hers. Grabbing it tight, ignoring the boniness he squeezes it three times. He nearly cries when she returns it in kind. “We’re here. We’re going to get you out okay?”

Veronica opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a hoarse squeak. She tries again before putting a hand to her throat and shaking her head. Curtis’s mind spins. She can’t speak. Veronica can’t speak.

Acxa nudges him aside and instructs Veronica to move as she heats the bars with her blasters, softening them enough to bend a hole in the grating. Carefully, they bring her up. She’s impossibly light; as fragile as a hollow glass bird. It makes no sense for her to have lost this much weight in a week.

“Take her,” Acxa says even as her fingertips linger on Veronica’s cheek, eyes never leaving her face, “I’ll give you cover. No matter what, get her out and contact the Atlas.”

Curtis nods and picks her up. Veronica clenches around him, wiry arms shaking and nails digging into his uniform. Curtis gulps. He tightens his grip and watches as Acxa checks their escape route.

“Keep your eyes closed and we’ll be out of here before you know it,” he murmurs. “Just keep them closed.”

Veronica tucks her face into his chest and then they’re on their way. Acxa covers them as they sneak out. And even though Acxa told him to contact the Atlas once they were out, he starts now. The sooner it’s here the sooner Veronica’s safe. He pictures sterile, white walls and long hallways. A busy, loud, happy mess hall. Then he pictures the people. The MFEs, Slav, Iverson, Hunk, Shiro. Veronica needs to see them all again.

“Get down!”

At Acxa’s command Curtis throws himself and Veronica down and behind a support pillar. Acxa stands over them firing back at the violent flashes that come on either side. Veronica trembles. Curtis grips her tight and thinks of the medical bay of all things.

He needs to get Veronica there. Veronica needs to be there. The Atlas needs to be here.

A tremor strikes. Acxa stumbles, bracing herself over them. The incoming enemy fire stops. Screams fill the space as they scramble. Something booms overhead, but Curtis can’t make it out over the sound of his own panic. He clutches Veronica to his chest mutters a confused mix of French, Spanish, and English in an attempt to calm them both until Acxa grabs his arm, prompting him to stand.

“MOVE!”

And he does. With Acxa pushing him on at his side, they clear the building. Running scared, Curtis can only take in so many details. The Atlas looms over them, blocking out the moon’s sun. Two craters mark the warning shots they heard earlier. A stray volley of an enemy goes over his head. He ducks, Acxa fires back. Curtis thinks he hears a groan, but he doesn’t look back to see. His eyes fix on the transport ship that lands in front of him. His entire life becomes just his breathing, his feet moving, and Veronica’s weight in his arms.


	10. Veronica 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I can't believe I'm already past 1/3 of this thing!  
> Alright, this chapter mentions mild torture and medical issues, so take care of yourself.

Curtis fights to suppress a yawn and then gives up in the middle of the battle. He sees no point in mere niceties. The only ones around are Acxa and Iverson. Everyone else is busy securing the base they found or treating Veronica. He keeps lets another yawn rip. A loud, long one.

Iverson growls, “go to bed, Hartfield.”

“No,” Curtis says, tired, but assertive, casting a glance at Acxa who’s own eyes are trained at the medbay door. If she’s awake and waiting, he’s awake and waiting. It’s the least he can do. Really.

Another officer approaches, bending to whisper something in Iverson’s ear and hands him a file. He stands and gives Curtis and Acxa a warning about staying off the bridge until either he or the captain summons them. Bridge duty. Ha. That’s Curtis’ biggest concern. Bridge duty. He nods to placate the commander, who walks away then with the other officer. Leaving just Curtis and Acxa waiting for results, for the doctors to give them an update on Veronica’s condition.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

He turns to look at Acxa, and she stays so still that he wonders if he imagined her speaking at all. “Yeah?"

“I understand that you and Veronica have no secrets between you. But what the shapeshifter said; about the conversations I had with them. I would appreciate if you do not disclose that to Veronica.”

Curtis doesn’t remember half of what happened between them and the shapeshifter he still mentally refers to as Wolfy. The day has dragged too long for his memory to work properly. All he knows is somehow they fooled Acxa too and were… Flirting with Acxa. Before it had been a blip on the radar of all the action, but now with nothing but a set of plain doors in front of him…

“What conversations did you have with them?”

Acxa looks absolutely venomous. Once upon a time that would have been enough to get him to drop the subject. But all the fucks he might have given have flown away.

“My silence is bought with details,” he says straight-faced and stubborn. Another, nicer time in the medical bay of the Atlas where he squeezed someone else for information. He was called a gossip then. Acxa probably has a stronger word she’d prefer to use.

She concedes with a huff, and a pout if Curtis dares to think Acxa the type to pout. Her gaze drops from him to the floor just in front of their feet.

“They told me what I wanted to hear the most and kept me distracted by it.” Acxa pauses for a long time, lips pressed firmly together as if trying to physically keep the words from manifesting. “They told me that they loved me. That Veronica loved me. They were so specific about how and when she’d fallen in love with me. That she admired me for my patience and bravery. That she saw how good and pure I was at heart. That I was loved for all the small things that only Veronica could know. I was so happy to hear it that I accepted it, without a doubt. Like a child accepts stories of the Stamittuk.”

“Stamittuk?”

Acxa waves her hand impatiently. “A scary story told to Galra children. You know. Eat your grovlo or the Stamittuk will get you.”

“Oh,” Curtis hums uselessly as he processes.

Veronica. In love with Acxa. Curtis wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. Not even a little. Veronica always fell hard and fast. But the fact that Veronica hadn’t admitted her feelings to Acxa, or to even him yet makes him second guess. He’s 76% certain she does. Ultimately, he decides not to tell Acxa one way or another how Veronica really feels.

That’s yet another discussion to have with Veronica. If he can.

“I won’t tell her,” he says softly, truthfully. “I won’t lie for you if she asks me about it, but I think she should hear it from you.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive me? For not knowing it wasn’t her?”

Now that, Curtis doesn’t know. He can’t know. After whatever Veronica went through in that compound, there’s no telling when or if she’ll forgive any of them. He takes so long to answer that Acxa just nods.

“I see.”

The next handful of days blur into one large smear of bullshit. He receives the official reports of Veronica’s abduction. He lets Acxa dissect and devour the details. There’s only a few he cares about. The how: she was plucked at the tail end of the Atlas’ emergency repairs, the chaos being a cover for the time between her being taken and when Wolfy took her place. The why: Wolfy belonged to a mercenary group, abandoned by the empire, their skills vilified by the developing Voltron Coalition. Just like everyone who wanted to make a name for themselves in the new order of the universe they wanted to gain weapons and ships. The Atlas was both and the best.

Anything besides the how and the why is just horror. Curtis can’t stand anymore horror after dealing with Veronica’s medical issues.

The Puwhavol, the group that took her had a unique way of extracting information. There was a worm, native on the moon that had a neurotoxin that could force its victim to cry-out until it was either discovered by predators and died or died from exhaustion. Sentient beings, well they talked. And Veronica talked. Non-stop. For days.

Before he knows it, Veronica becomes a list of symptoms and abuses. Shredded vocal cords. Chapped, bloody lips from dehydration. Scar tissue on her tongue from force-feedings. Weight loss, low blood pressure, brittle hair and nails. Dieu, she even has gingivitis.

To top it off, Retkins, the Atlas’ only psychologist has made it clear that whatever Veronica wants, she gets as she recovers her physical wounds. For all the lack of control she’s had, she needs as much control as she can get now. What she wants is Curtis and Acxa by her side whenever possible. She asked for them, well, wrote for them the second she could. She held their hands so tightly that first night Curtis worried she’d break her own fingers from the pressure.

He’s already worked a long shift on the bridge today before he walks to take his evening shift with Veronica. He and Acxa trade times. But when he arrives at Veronica’s room in the medbay he finds her curled up in Acxa’s arms. He pauses outside the door. He can’t tell if Veronica’s asleep until Acxa asks a question about what’s happening in the scene of the movie they’re watching and Veronica nods her head. A sliver of a smile forms on Acxa’s face and he sees how Veronica could fall in love with that smile. It’s tiny and precious. Like a kitten.

Acxa notices him at the door, making pointed eye contact, as if afraid he’ll step in and ruin all of their quiet intimacy. He rolls his eyes and gives her an encouraging smile. Acxa rolls her eyes back. She lifts the hand she has on Veronica’s back and shoos him away with it.

Curtis shrugs and turns away. Maybe Acxa will take the opportunity to tell Veronica everything she asked him to keep secret.

“You don’t understand,” Acxa had said to him the last time he suggested it. “It’s more than just confessing feelings.”

She was right about one thing: he does not understand. But he also doesn’t have to waste braincells on figuring it out either. It’s his first night since his return to duty that he isn’t immediately needed anywhere by anyone and he knows exactly how he wants to spend it.

He drops face-first into bed with a happy groan. He doesn’t care that he’s skipping dinner, or leaving reports unfinished, or missing an opportunity to call Raquel; something he desperately needs to do. No. Sleep. Sleep, that sweet-scented, warm-bodied mistress kisses his brow and beckons him into her bed. He could go straight if it meant laying in those dreamy arms forever.

Despite his vows of heterosexual intentions, he does eventually wake-up. And at an ungodly hour.

“Hmm, Atlas?” he murmurs. The lights in his room brighten in response and he groans, slamming his eyes shut, “nooo.”

There’s a nudge, mentally. With several more insistent nudges, the Atlas gets him to accept consciousness. Grumbling false threats of a system shutdown, he rises from his bunk. He pulls on a wrinkled uniform and with bleary eyes, he lets the Atlas guide him to where she wants him to go. He reasons with himself, the sooner he does what she wants, the sooner he can go back to sleep.

The Atlas leads him all the way down to her belly, to the Voltron Lion hangars. Confusion and curiosity clear out the last of his drowsiness. The lights dim around every door besides one. Curtis furrows his brows and enters the Blue Lion’s hangar.

The magnificent sentient ship stands as rigid and as lonely as the day they towed her back inside without her paladin. But it’s not the lion that snares Curtis’ attention. It’s Shiro, sitting cross-legged just underneath the lion’s chin and staring endlessly.

“Shiro?” he calls as he approaches, “what are you doing here?”

Shiro jumps and turns at his voice. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Curtis sighs and plops himself down onto the floor beside him. “Atlas woke me up. She sent me here.”

“Oh.” The tips of Shiro’s ears pinken, bright and stark against the white of his hair. Curtis grins at the sight, but the Atlas didn’t bring him here to look at Shiro and think about how cute he is. He clears his throat and tries to make his voice firm.

“Shiro.”

Shiro doesn’t reply, only sighs in that way Curtis has grown accustomed to; shy and reluctant. He just has to stare Shiro down to get the answers he wants.

“Nightmares. I’ve been having them a lot recently and well, back when we started Voltron, Allura had nightmares too. We’d find each other in the castle and just… Sit together. This—” Shiro gestures vaguely to the lion. “—is the closest I can get to that.”

“I’m.” Curtis stops himself short, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry. I know you miss her.”

“I do. We understood each other. We understood how big and terrifying the Galra really were. It took a while for the other paladins to understand.”

Curtis relates well. There was no knowing until you were in the thick of it. He, himself, could not understand until the occupation, and he learns more everyday aboard the Atlas just how crazy and enormous the universe really is. It’s a dark subject and unappetizing to linger on.

“Do you always come down here when you have nightmares?”

“Not really. Thanks to Retkins, I was starting to manage them a little better, able to pull myself out of them and reorient myself easier afterwards, but lately, they’ve been especially bad.”

Retkins. Retkins. Retkins. Retk- Oh! Curtis remembers who that is! The ship’s psychologist.

“You’re seeing Retkins? For like, therapy?”

Nervously almost, Shiro nods. Curtis’s grin splits his face, and he leans over, bumping Shiro’s shoulder with his.

“That’s great, Shiro.”

“Thanks.”

Shiro’s voice goes flat, as if he doesn’t think it’s all that great. So, Curtis bumps him again with a stern look. “It _is_ great.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and falls onto his back, hands laced behind his head. “It’s work is what it is, because you know, I don’t have enough of that.”

And that gets Shiro on a roll about therapy. He started the day after Curtis went to Earth. He’s been officially diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He hates it. He appreciates it. His complaints and frustrations and revelations spill out into the cavernous space they inhabit, and Curtis dotes on every word. Face in hand, he hums in the right places and comments when prompted. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Shiro points it out.

Curtis shrugs and lays down too, studying the crisscross of steel beams above them. He tells Shiro that it’s nice, to discuss something other than mission reports and Veronica updates. Something that doesn’t give him cause to worry. Something hopeful. Like a friend getting better.

“How is she doing?” Shiro asks, their heads turned to face one another.

“You don’t know?”

“I… I had to delegate her status updates to Iverson. What happened to her… It triggers some of my symptoms.”

“Merde alors. Then why are you asking, dummy?” Curtis gives him a quarter-hearted kick. “No need to trigger yourself for the sake of being polite.”

“I’m asking,” Shiro returns the kick, “because I care about you. Have you even let yourself feel all of it yet? Has she?”

Curtis looks back at the ceiling to hide the immediate tears that spring to his eyes. No. No, he hasn’t. He’s tired already. How tired would he be if he actually _felt_ everything? Sure, all those feelings sit right at the surface, waiting for even the tiniest crack to leak through. But he expends far less energy to hold them back then to acknowledge them. To live with them.

And as for Veronica feeling all of it. He doesn’t know. She can’t tell him. Not in her usual way at least. She used to demand he drop everything, drape herself over his lap, and hiss and shout and cry about whatever bothered her. He always let her, because that’s what she needed. And now he didn’t know how to give her what she needed.

The very edges of Shiro’s metal fingertips skim the edges of his. Curtis doesn’t look back at him, but he does let their fingers overlap.

“Do me a favor? Make the time to feel everything? Otherwise you just start hitting walls. Literally. And I don’t think your hand could take it.”

That spooks a laugh out of him, and he takes hold of Shiro’s hand properly, interlocking their fingers. “You saying I’ve got weak hands?”

Shiro laughs with him, giving the tiniest of squeezes. Then he changes the subject all together.

“Want to get something to eat?”

Yes. His stomach clenches around nothing. Now that he’s gotten some sleep the rest of his needs make themselves known. He has to pull Shiro’s hand up with his in order to check his watch.

“Dinner service was over hours ago.”

“You’re so right,” Shiro turns his head, a grin dancing on his lips, “damn shame neither of us has high enough clearance to walk in the galley and make a sandwich.”

“You’re a sarcastic little shit sometimes, you know that?”

“Adds to my charm.”

“Like you don’t have enough already. C’mon.” Curtis hauls himself to his feet, and then tugs at Shiro to join him. “Hungry.”

Their hands drop apart at the door, but Curtis doesn’t let himself feel too disappointed by it. Not when Shiro entertains him with the story of how Hunk managed to convince him to make paninis with his former Galra prosthetic, or the way Shiro refuses to walk allllll the way to the refrigerator when he has an arm perfectly suited to scouting for mustard without him. They eat together in quiet, amused solidarity. Then they call it a night.

Later, when he returns to his room he messages Raquel.

_I’m alive. I’ve got a lot to tell you so whenever you can talk let me know. Might be crying involved._

The next morning, he wakes up to her response.

_I get done at work at 5 my time. Let me see them bitch baby tears._


	11. Buena Noche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you look to your right you'll see a shit-ton of feel-good fluff.

“So, it’s decided, ” Shiro’s sigh echoes over the meeting room. His less than pleased expression highlighted by the soft glare of holoscreens. “We’re heading to Earth.”

The other officers meet this announcement with nods and murmurs of agreement, all except Curtis who meets Shiro’s gaze with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. Voicelessly he airs his grievances.

I just got back from Earth.

Shiro gives the tiniest of shrugs.

I know. But what am I supposed to do? Between the monster attack and rounding up misguided mercenaries, we’re low on supplies and morale.

Curtis huffs and returns to his screen. He’s well aware of why they need to return to Earth. If nothing else, it’ll be good for Veronica. She can finish her rehabilitation with her family; something that’s been hinted at, but she hasn’t leaned one way or another. He hates the idea that she might want to and hasn’t said so for his sake. He has Raquel, he isn’t totally abandoned.

The meeting breaks and Curtis’ schedule fills between getting the Atlas across the universe to Earth and the ever switching shifts with Acxa. Veronica has gotten better about being without them, even expanding her circle of comfort to the MFE pilots. But Curtis feels better having seen her with his own eyes, hearing the tinny speaker of her type to voice app. Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night and has to run down to the medical bay, just to see her sleeping to remind himself that she’s fine.

It’s a week after the original meeting that they reach the edge of the Milky Way. With the Atlas’ engines, it’ll only take three days to reach Earth, making a timely arrival on the evening of December 23rd. In mere hours the crew’s energy changes from listless to restless. Everyone seems to be ready to have their feet on the ground. Even him.

Raquel helps a lot in that regard. She plans to bring Anissa over for Buena Noche, or Cuban Christmas Eve at the McClains, where he’ll be staying. His parents, well, he hasn’t asked and Raquel hasn’t said. Either way, he’ll have Veronica, Raquel, and Anissa. That’s more than enough.

Their yuletide landing helps Veronica’s spirits too. Finally, she reaches out to her mom and tells her about her missing voice, if not the reason behind it yet, and has been planning Buena Noche like her life depends on it. She goes a little crazy with the guest list.

“Wait, so it’s your family, Acxa, me, Raquel, Anissa, and now Shiro? How are you going to fit all of those people in your house?”

Veronica shrugs and types out, “ _Raquel and Anissa aren’t staying the night. And Lance is going to bunk with Marco. So you and Shiro have Lance’s room all to yourselves.”_

The automated voice is a complete deadpan, but Curtis believes that last bit should be read with as much innuendo as possible. He knows a set-up when he sees one. He also knows not to comment on a set-up when he sees it. It adds too much fuel to Veronica’s schemes.

“Should I assume that you and Acxa will be sharing a room too?”

_“Just for the one night, she’ll be gone the next day.”_

Curtis blinks. “Acxa’s leaving?”

Veronica’s fingers pause before she nods. “ _The Blade needs her.”_

He can see the logic in it. Acxa has already been away for several weeks now and the Blade of Marmora is spread thin. They need someone as experienced and skilled as Acxa. Still, he wishes they didn’t.

Curtis reaches his hand out and grips her by the forearm, so she’s able to type if she needs too. Three little squeezes and a pained smile appears on Veronica’s face.

 _“It’s okay, Francito,”_ the speaker voice muddles the nickname _. “I’m glad she’ll get to experience Buena Noche at least.”_

Then, Curtis understands her frantic need to make Buena Noche perfect and joins her in her scheming.

* * *

On the early morning ride out to the McClain ranch, Curtis drives so Veronica can properly brief Acxa and Shiro on the cultural chaos they are stepping into. There’s even a digital presentation and reference materials.

 _“During dinner there will be a dead pig in the middle of the table. Yes, we will be eating it.”_ Veronica’s poor fingers must be tired after typing so much on her hand-held voice device.

“What is a pig?” Acxa asks.

“There’s a picture and description on reference page 8,” Curtis calls from the front seat, meeting Shiro’s eyes in the rearview mirror and grinning at the look of exasperation on his face.

“Is this all really necessary?” Shiro thumbs all 33 pages with both indignation and surprise.

“Yes,” Acxa affirms on the other side of Veronica. “For once I won’t be ignorant during a social engagement with humans. Thank you for making this.”

It’s Veronica’s eyes he meets in the mirror this time and they are burning with excitement. Curtis smiles. Then, as the car in front of theirs kicks up some red dust he notices that he’s home on Earth and he hasn’t thought about being disowned since they were walking down the gangplank of the Atlas. He counts that as a victory.

He spends the rest of the drive listening to Veronica and Acxa review the various aspects of Cuban culture and exchanging glances with Shiro. He catches smiles most often, and then blushes once Veronica informs him of the sleeping arrangements. Heat blossoms under his skin too, and he pulls at his own shirt collar.

The second they step out of the car they’re pushed into welcoming embraces by Veronica’s parents and Lance. Then they’re put to work.

“Acxa, you’re with the Blade, right?” Veronica’s mother, Graciela, asks and then adds on before Acxa has a chance to answer: “that means you’re good with knives. Perfect. Come help me in the kitchen. Mija, come on, you’ll have to show her where everything is.”

Curtis watches as Acxa and Veronica are shuffled inside. Vicente, Veronica’s father claims Shiro for decorating duty.

“That arm of yours is perfect, we won’t even have to bother with a ladder.” Vicente’s smile borders on maniacal as he leads Shiro away, waving his hands around as he details his plan for the exterior.

Lance just shakes his head, “well, that leaves us with the regular chores. Think you remember?”

Curtis nods. During his forced stay last time he couldn’t do much, but he did follow Lance around and kept him company, let him air out his random thoughts on an actual person. They hit the barn first. They milk Kaltenecker and her newly arrived friend Montgomery, let them go into the field for the day and muck their stalls.

“Hey,” Lance catches his attention, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Before we grab some lunch, I gotta ask: what really happened to Veronica?”

Lance’s question stops Curtis dead. By merit of asking, Lance doesn’t buy the cover story of alien laryngitis for Veronica’s lack of voice. For a second, looking at Lance reminds him of Elliott. Just a baby brother worried about his older sibling; helpless to do anything, hopeful they can do something. Curtis swallows.

“She’s okay. I promise.” Curtis wants more than anything to erase the worry lines on Lance's face. “I can’t say anything though. It’s her story to tell.”

“But-“

“Have you told your parents all your war stories?” Curtis cuts him off, hitting a little below the belt. Only feels a little bad about it. “No. Because you’re home and you’re alive. That’s what they need to know. Same goes for Nica.”

Lance frowns. Clearly displeased at being lectured, he grumbles a little, but nods. Curtis opens his mouth to apologize for his tone, or his word choice, but he closes it again. No. He only feels guilty because Lance saved the universe. If it were any other nosy family member, he’d have dealt with it the same way.

“Alright, fine. But can you at least tell me what’s up with her and Acxa?”

That he can do. Acxa made him promise not to tell Veronica, but she made no mention of any other McClain. “They’re in love but won’t admit it to each other.”

Lance grins conspiratorially. “Oh. We’re going to have so much fun with that.”

Curtis grins back, “absolutely.”

* * *

By sunset, the farm chores are done, the house looks gorgeous inside and out, and the smell of food wafts in welcoming clouds. Curtis hangs outside with Marco, Luis, and Lisa who are on pig smoking duty. It doesn’t take that many people, but it’s a nice excuse to not be doing anything else and drink beer. He and Lisa are discussing the restructuring government when he hears it, the purest sound in the universe.

“Uncle Curt!”

He turns and sees his father’s beat-up truck come up the drive with the passenger window rolled down and a now eight-year old hanging out of it. Curtis moves without knowing it. He gets to the door just as Raquel puts the truck into park and he catches the unbuckled Anissa as she climbs out the window.

She’s heavier now, stronger too by the grip her arms and legs have around him. Mon dieu, Curtis thinks as he squeezes her tight back, rocking her from side to side. All of his calls with Raquel since reboarding the Atlas have assured him that his parents haven’t succeeded in poisoning Anissa against him or his ‘Galra-loving’ ways, but this cements it. Anissa doesn’t hate him. His niece doesn’t hate him. Elliott’s daughter doesn’t hate him.

“Hey, babycakes,” Curtis chokes out even though his eyes are dry. He opens one arm for Raquel who then manages to set herself into the frame of his body too. His little broken family fits right in his arms. If there's something out in the universe that can make him happier than he is right in this moment, Curtis hasn't found it yet.

Even a long-lost uncle from space doesn’t compare to other kids though. As soon as Sylvio and Nadia get out into the yard, Anissa scrambles down to go see the new chicks Nadia’s been telling her about. Raquel yells after her, but she gets no response. Sighing, Raquel shakes her head.

“She’ll talk to me again when she’s bored or hungry.” She takes Curtis’ arm. “Now, what does a woman have to do to get a drink around here?”

Curtis hugs her tight against his side as they approach the house. “That’s Marco’s department. I’d stick with beer if I were you though, the McClains don’t bother with any rum that isn’t 80 proof or more.”

“You don’t think I can handle my rum?”

“I know you can’t. I know how Anissa was conceived.”

“Shows what you know.” Raquel rolls shining brown eyes. “She’s a tequila baby.”

Curtis snorts, but helps her get a drink anyway.

As night descends, the rum flows more and more freely. Curtis only warned Raquel about it as she was driving home after presents, but he’s not, so by the time Lance turns on some salsa music, he’s already tipsy.

As Vicente and Graciela start dancing, Shiro sidles up to him. Curtis smiles wide at him. He hasn’t spent all that much time with him since they arrived, only catching glances during conversations with other people. They clink glasses and step out of the way as Luis and Lisa begin dancing too.

“Is this the mandatory dancing Veronica mentioned?”

“Yep.” Curtis sips his mojito.

“What is this song actually saying?”

Curtis listens carefully. Interpreting songs was different from interpreting speech, it tends to be more flowery. Though, the song’s pretty clear-cut, if a little forward.

“Don’t leave me alone with this heart of mine, it’s going crazy with passion. If you want me, say so because I’m dying for your love.”

“Really?”

“Don’t worry. Some salsa songs are about death, oppression, and rebellion.”

That earns Curtis a chuckle. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

Curtis agrees as he follows Shiro’s gaze to the others across the room. Lance helps Veronica teach Acxa the steps. Glancing back at Shiro, Curtis catches the gleam of interest in his eyes.

“Want me to show you?” Curtis offers before he can stop himself. He even sets his drink down in preparation.

Shiro turns curious eyes on him. “You know how?”

“You can’t be friends with Nica as long as I have and not learn how to dance. Like you said: mandatory.”

“Alright then, show me.”

Shiro is shorter than he is. Only five maybe six centimeters shorter. But shorter. He has noticed that before, of course he has, but he noticed it the same way he notices how many pages were in a report. It’s just data. Shiro, the man the myth the legend, makes that data seem inconsequential. Which it is, until Shiro steps into the starting position, his metal hand gripping Curtis’s bicep, his chin tilting back to meet Curtis’s eyes.

“Tallest person leads, right?” Shiro asks.

Curtis only manages to nod, his poor tipsy brain incapable of words. He takes Shiro’s hand and pressing forward to begin on the beat. Shiro’s eyes drop to watch their feet. He misses every cue and it takes all of Curtis’s concentration to not step on Shiro’s toes.

Curtis catches Shiro around the waist as he stumbles a few steps later. He laughs without thinking.

“I didn’t know you had two left feet.”

Shiro glares at him, his mouth twisting into a determined smirk. “Show me again.”

And he does. Twice. Both times Shiro catches the rhythm and then tries to move faster, move a step ahead of Curtis. Trying to lead. Both times Shiro stumbles, pulling on Curtis’s arms. The second time he steps hard on Curtis’s foot.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Curtis grinds his name between his teeth. With a harsh tug he pulls Shiro back into the dance, his grip tight. “Let. Me. Lead.”

A look crosses Shiro’s face. Shock maybe? The look vanishes into a beautiful smile. They’re already close, but Shiro leans forward, eyes glinting in challenge.

“Lead me then.”

The pain in his foot all but vanishes when Shiro issues that dare. They find the beat and start again. Shiro responds to him and only him now. Every little point of pressure makes him move as needed. Their movements turn fluid. Curtis smiles, showing his teeth, on the verge of laughing. It’s electric. The way Shiro follows the slight changes in their hands, the way Shiro listens to his body like a song. It sparks the rum in his blood. He’s on fire for this man.

Shiro steps on his foot again, but it isn’t his fault. Curtis jerks Shiro forward to keep Marco and Raquel from barreling into him. Evidently, they have grown tired of dancing strictly salsa and have decided to just fling each other around the room.

“You alright?” He asks since Shiro hasn’t straightened from his position from his chest. Not that he minds the closeness.

“Yeah.” Shiro’s hand gives a tender squeeze as he stands-up properly. “Think we can dance like them?”

Curtis, taking a play from Shiro’s book, leans close enough for their noses to brush. “Follow my lead.”

They take off completely opposed to the beat, he whips Shiro out, pulls him back in. It’s the same fire as before, but it’s wild now, they nearly collide with other pairs. Marco and Raquel cheer, happy to have two more join their rebel faction. Someone calls for them to be careful, but Curtis can’t hear over the breathlessness of Shiro’s laughter. They pop, they bop, they spin, they dip.

At one point the kids join in too. Anissa steals him away from Shiro with an impatient huff and a tap of her little shoe.

Curtis catches his breath as Raquel snatches Anissa from his arms after two songs and Shiro fills her spot. Shamelessly, he steadies himself by holding Shiro’s waist. They duck to the side, hands still on each other. The blush of exertion on his cheeks and the glow of his hair from the Christmas lights makes Shiro an absolute vision.

The flirty rasp returns to Shiro’s voice. “See something you like, Curt?”

Oh. He must have been staring. Tipsy still, and encouraged by how easy the dancing was, how easy the touching is, he snags the hem of Shiro’s shirt and plays with the material. The navy-blue button-up is something soft, so much softer than the standard uniform he’s used to seeing Shiro in.

“And if I do?”

The music cuts off and all eyes and disappointed groans turn towards Rachel. “Dinner’s on!”

Like a flock of birds, or school of fish, everyone moves in sync to get dinner started. Instead of a flurry of bodies, it’s a flurry of plates, glasses, food and laughter. Curtis takes a seat at the kids table so Raquel can have a meal with adults, but it’s a pleasant surprise when Shiro pulls a chair up next to his.

“Lance reminded me that I’m technically only 7,” Shiro says before Curtis can ask. He turns and shouts over his shoulder, “I’m actually 7 1/4 thank you very much!”

The former defender of the universe only sticks out his tongue in reply before going back to his conversation with Acxa. Curtis smiles and shakes his head. For a second, whatever was between them just before dinner was announced reignites as Shiro smirks at him and their knees touch under the table. Then, Sylvio makes a farting sound with his armpit.

As per McClain tradition, after dinner comes presents. Plates are left to soak and gifts are sorted. He’s squeezed on the floor between Raquel and Veronica while Lance and the kids hand out gifts. Once that’s done, Anissa plops herself down on his lap and they start to unwrap gifts together. Veronica accidently kicks him as she makes room for Acxa to sit with her. Across the way, Shiro is slowly being buried alive under a mountain of presents. Not all for him, Lance says. Some go to Keith and he’d better not open them!

Curtis unwraps a framed photo of him and Elliott. An oddly angled, somewhat blurry shot of them sitting in Curtis’ freshman dormitory, trying to get an Ikea bookstand together.

He grabs Raquel and squeezes her tight. Loud laugher, crunching paper, and expressions of gratitude fill his ears as he tries to get his emotions in order. The picture is perfect. The perfect thing to remember Elliott by.

Just over her shoulder he sees Shiro crack-up at the avocado Lance gave him.

“An avocado! Thanks!”

Alright, maybe he couldn’t be happier than _this._

* * *

The bottle of rum passes into his hands. The clear glass gleams from the firelight in front of him. Curtis takes a swig; his fifth or sixth, he can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. He passes it on to Shiro who is, once again, seated next to him. Curtis likes it, there’s more excuses he can use to touch him this way. Their fingers brush over the neck of the bottle.

“Alright,” Rachel throws another log into the firepit with a yawn. “That’s the last of the firewood.”

There’s assenting nods and contagious yawns. It’s well after midnight and the only ones left to enjoy the fire are ‘the youngins’ as Vicente and Graciela had said before they had gone up to bed. Only he, Shiro, Lance, Marco, Rachel, and Sylvio remain. Though, Sylvio is fading fast on Marco’s lap. Poor kid wants so badly to be grown up.

“So,” Lance grins across the pit from him, the glow setting his Atlean marks alight, “think they’ll confess?”

“Who’ll confess?” Shiro asks, startled out of whatever tipsy thoughts he found himself in. Curtis finds it precious and pats his back.

“Acxa and Nica,” he tells him, his hand lingering. He blames the rum. He blames Shiro. He’s too attractive to be so close.

“Oh.” Shiro moves to take a sip of rum, then thinks better of it and hands it off to Rachel.

Curtis, hand slipping away, answers Lance. “If they don’t, they’re both idiots.”

Lance scoffs in agreement. Marco and Rachel start a separate conversation about leftovers. They wonder aloud if there are any left. Curtis wonders aloud if they’ve been toking behind the barn again.

Marco shifts Sylvio’s sleeping form to reach into his pocket, “If you wanted some Francito all you had to do was-“

“It’s scary to confess,” Shiro says reversing the stream of conversation. Somehow, he’s gotten ahold of the bottle again, and he’s staring directly into the it. “I mean, for somebody like Acxa. She wasn’t anything but a cog in the war machine. Easily replaced. Easily forgotten. She tried to do everything right and Veronica was the only one who treated her like a person. Like she deserved to be happy. What happens if Veronica doesn’t feel the same? Does she go back to being a cog? Something that used to be someone?”

As slurred and slow as his speech is, he leaves the rest of the group silent. Curtis has a sneaking suspicion this isn’t just about Acxa. But he’s too drunk and Shiro is definitely too drunk to pursue that line of thinking tonight.

“Who knew Shiro would be a mopey drunk?” Rachel teases. Everyone but Shiro laughs. The mood lightens.

“I’m not mopey,” Shiro pouts. His lower lip even pops. Curtis imagines pulling that lip between his teeth. Curtis takes the bottle from him and passes it over to Marco instead.

“Okay. Let’s go get some food before these stoners eat it all.” Curtis stands on shaky legs. Marco and Rachel resent his remark and then ask if they’ll bring some food out. He pulls Shiro up with him and doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk into the house.

They raid the fridge. He pushes them to drink glass after glass of water. Curtis just hopes it is enough to stave off the hang-over. When Shiro finishes his second glass he sets his head against Curtis’ shoulder in a pseudo hug.

“How is it you’re always taking care of me?” Shiro whispers.

Curtis wraps an arm around him then. Drunk and slightly numb fingers comb through Shiro’s hair. It is oddly similar to when Allura died. A lot less tears though and hopefully the next morning wouldn’t be nearly as awkward.

“You take care of me too,” Curtis ends up saying.

Shiro’s head turns, his nose pressing into Curtis’s neck. Innocent, but it sends a shiver down Curtis’s spine regardless. “Yeah?”

Curtis nods. His alcohol bathed brain takes a second to churn out how exactly Shiro’s taken care of him. Having Pidge come and distract him with coding. Taking him cliff diving. Letting him go and get Veronica. Telling him that he was a good man even when his own father didn’t believe he was. Making sure he talked to someone while he was taking care of Veronica. Calling him, messaging him, being his friend.

But those are too many words, and Shiro is nice and warm in his arms. So, he just nuzzles his head against Shiro’s.

“Yeah.”

Through the screen door, they can hear the hiss of a fire being put out. Shiro straightens as if he’s heard a battle alarm. He tugs on Curtis’s arm.

“Quick.”

They run up the stairs and into Lance’s bedroom. Overexcited, they close the door a little too loudly behind them. Shiro leans against it like he’s worried someone followed them.

“What was that about?” Curtis laughs, squinting at Shiro’s half-illuminated face.

Shiro comes closer, and Curtis dazedly recognizes the look of determination in his eyes. His breath hitches as Shiro puts his hands on his chest, and his head instinctively tilts.

“Because I didn’t want to do this with an audience.”

Shiro kisses him like he’s claiming him. Lips hot and branding against his. And. Oh. Oh, he tastes like cool water and lingering rum. Curtis pushes harder against his lips and tongue to get more. He ends up pushing Shiro back against the door, which is good. They could both use the stability as they wrap tighter around each other. Curtis snags that bottom lip and Shiro grips his hair, his shirt, anything really.

It’s sloppy, messy, drunk kissing. It’s good. It’s what he’s been waiting for. It’s not nearly enough for him.

He frames Shiro’s face in his hands and forces the kisses to turn simple and soft. Their breathing turns from heavy to steady. Curtis takes one last long drag from those lips before he pulls away. Grey eyes glimmer at him in want, in worry. Curtis presses his forehead to Shiro’s.

“I want to kiss you sober,” he whispers, his hands dropping to Shiro’s shoulders. “I want it to be real. Don’t want to pretend it was a drunk mistake later.”

Shiro breathes out, “Curt.”

“Please.”

It’s Shiro’s mismatched hands that frame Curtis’ face now. Pushing just enough for them to make proper eye contact. A small, sweet smile plays on Shiro’s lips.

“Kiss me sober.” Shiro’s hands slide and his arms are around him again. “But, cuddle me drunk? I don’t want to let go of you.”

Chuckling, Curtis hides his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck. Breathes in the unabating smell of wood smoke on his skin. “Deal.”

Clumsy and leaning on each other they discard their shoes. And for the sake of not continuing where they left off, they don’t change out of their clothes. They climb into Lance’s bed together, arms and legs free to curl around the other.

* * *

  


There’s a damn rooster. A damn rooster who screams and screams and wakes them. It does nothing to help the mild hangover he suffers from. This is why people eat chicken. It’s to shut them up.

Shiro groans beneath his chin, “do we have to get up?”

Curtis smiles: enamored with Shiro’s rough voice and the way he wiggles closer. He teases through his cottonmouth, “not a morning person, captain?”

“On leave. Not the captain. Please record your message at the tone.”

Chortling, Curtis rubs circles into Shiro’s bare back. His shirt has ridden up and gives his hand quite the expanse of territory to explore. He smiles as Shiro wiggles closer again. What he wouldn’t give for more skin-to-skin contact right now. Not even for sex, just for the sake of being close.

“Can you get it to stop?” Shiro asks, ducking his head back down between the pillow and Curtis. He pulls the blanket over his one unprotected ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drops the pet name as easily as the sky drops rain and with as little remorse. “I’d have to get out of bed to do that.”

Shiro’s hands dig into him. One on his hip, another in his hair. “No.”

Dieu, he’s adorable. Curtis settles in again, dozes around the sounds of the rest of the house waking up. The thunder of Sylvio and Nadia’s footfalls on the stairs. The slap of the screen door. The clatter of plates in the kitchen. Through it all he has Shiro snuggled against him. Warm and perfect.

Shiro stretches and exposes the pale, unmarred skin of his throat. Curtis wants to paint it with love bites. Will Shiro let him, he wonders, when his uniform wouldn’t easily hide it? And that wondering leads him to more wondering. How will this work on the Atlas? They’d have more privacy in Shiro’s room. Is it even allowed? Surely it was, or Shiro wouldn’t have pursued it. Pursued him. How long has Shiro wanted to kiss him like he did last night? Who will they tell? What will they say?

A kiss draws him out of the thought spiral. Mutual morning breath sours it a little, but it doesn’t stop him from going for more when Shiro pulls away. Shiro rolls under him and Curtis follows, pushing him into the mattress. He’s realizing he likes pressing Shiro against things.

“Morning guys!” Lance knocks on the door and Curtis freezes, afraid he’ll come in and see. He doesn’t. “Come get breakfast!”

“We’re coming!” Shiro shouts back.

The opening is too perfect. Curtis nips Shiro’s ear. “Not yet anyway.”

Shiro pulls him back down, laughing against his lips.


	12. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos. It gives me life, especially when you tell me exactly what you liked about each chapter. Thanks!!!!!!

The transition between not-making out with Shiro and unreservedly making-out with Shiro is awkward and more difficult than it should be. Shiro’s summoned back to base the very morning that they wake-up together in bed. Turns out he needs to hold interviews for a second psychologist on the Atlas. Retkins’ case load is full. Regardless, it leaves Curtis in the lurch until Shiro calls him early, almost too early the next day.

“Shiro,” Curtis gives the grumpiest stare he can into the video feed. His voice a sleepy whine, “ _w_ _hy_?”

To Shiro’s credit he does look remorseful. “Sorry. I have an early meeting and I thought the rooster would have already woken you up.”

On cue the damn thing starts its own rendition of Carmina Burana. Shiro chuckles. Curtis groans and pulls the pillow under him so he can at least be somewhat vertical for the conversation.

“Why am I awake Shiro?”

“We never talked about yesterday, or the night before that. I just wanted to make sure that we- that I didn’t cross a line. I’m you’re C.O.”

That snaps Curtis awake. “Oh. OH. Of course you didn’t cross a line. No, Shiro. It was okay, better than okay. You didn’t-. It was all totally consensual.”

“Better than okay, huh?”

Curtis huffs through his nose and rolls his eyes. “You’re fishing, Shiro.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just hoping that it’ll happen again. You know, less drunk and less in Lance’s bed.”

The answer is yes. A resounding yes. A yes Curtis could scream louder than even the operatic rooster. But, teasing Shiro is a lot of fun. So. No. No direct answers for him. Yet.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to run it up the flagpole.”

“Tell Veronica I’ll give her a raise if she gives it the seal of approval.”

Curtis laughs into his pillow. So much for keeping it all above board. When he lifts his head, Shiro’s eyes shine through the grainy video feed. His insides turn to mush at the sight of it.

“Dieu you’re gorgeous.” The words leave his mouth and he can’t find a reason to take them back. It’s the truth and he’s always seen it. Always kept himself from saying it out loud. But if the wide eyes, bashful smile, and accompanying pink cheeks are going to be the standard reaction, he’s going to say it a lot more often.

Something on Shiro’s end of the call begins to beep. Their time’s up.

“I have to go,” Shiro says, sounding miserable.

“I know. Call me later.”

“I will. Promise”

The call ends and Curtis drops his face back into the pillows. He may or may not do a small victory dance under the covers.

* * *

The one upside to having Shiro away at base for the remainder of the leave is it gives him time to focus on Veronica’s own transition to living at home during her recovery. He’s glad for it. He knows he isn’t abandoning her. She’ll be with her family. She’ll have access to the best medical care on the planet. Still, he feels a type of guilt for not worrying now after worrying about her for so long. That, and for being excited to rejoin the Atlas. To rejoin Shiro.

Curtis spends his last full day on Earth with Veronica, Raquel, and Anissa. Raquel takes him and Veronica on a tour through the reconstructed downtown while Anissa’s at school. Then, that night they hole-up in Veronica’s room with junk food and a movie marathon. It’s a good day. It’s a great day. Though he can’t help himself from looking at each of them in turn and get a head start on missing them. He takes it as a good sign. The war and the fall out with his parents made it hard to miss anyone the last three times he’s left Earth.

He walks into the meeting hall and immediately he’s approached by James. He asks about Veronica and her recovery and Curtis gives him the slim of it. He asks after James's week of leave, if he managed to see any family, but then they hear Shiro call the meeting to order. James gives him a nod and a smile before they go to their respective seats.

Throughout the meeting, Shiro doesn’ make eye contact with him. Pointedly. Even when Shiro calls on him, he doesn’t meet Curtis’ eyes. Anxiety knots his stomach and divides his attention. Half on launch protocol and program diagnostics for the Atlas and the other half tries to dissect their few conversations from the last week to see where he picked up the wrong signal. Maybe it’s just reality. Shiro’s the captain. Curtis is his subordinate. Maybe it’s just too complicated.

“Sergeant Hartfield?” Curtis cringes at how quickly he turns to Shiro and the relief he feels when Shiro finally looks at him. “Can you hang back for a minute?”

Curtis nods, not trusting himself to speak until everyone else shuffles out to complete their pre-launch duties. “Yes, sir?”

Shiro chuckles and shakes his head, crossing the distance between them in long strides. He’s seen that look before. In the dark. In the early morning light. And now, under harsh fluorescents. They reach for each other, meet in the middle for a kiss. A little tense at first, but relaxing the longer they go, the longer they don’t worry about the uniforms or the roles or the officers milling around outside. Shiro pulls away, metal fingers tracing Curtis’ cheek.

“Sorry. I know I was being weird,” he apologizes. “I just- I thought if I looked at you that I wouldn’t be able to resist kissing you.”

Curtis laughs under his breath, “well, working on the bridge together should be a breeze then.”

“Just try really hard to be unattractive and I’ll try really hard not to check you out every ten seconds.”

Curtis lifts his eyebrow, pleased, flattered, maybe even a little turned on. “Has that been a problem for you in the past? Checking me out while you’re on duty?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Oh, but you already have.” Curtis smirks, hands tightening over Shiro’s hips. “For now, you’re just gonna have to settle for watching me go. My boss just handed me a bunch of work to complete before launch and I need to get started.”

“He sounds awful. You should quit.”

“I would, but he’s a really good kisser.”

Shiro makes good on the praise. He pulls Curtis in for one more unprofessional and satisfying kiss. When Curtis walks out, he looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, Shiro is staring. Curtis beams. As he turns his eyes forward, he beats down the urge to put an extra sway to his hips.

The end of their shift can’t come soon enough.

* * *

Out of all the places Curtis has ever worked the Atlas has the best food. Hands down. And he's worked in Paris. _Paris_. You just can’t think too hard on what the ingredients were on the Atlas. That’s begging the universe to purge your stomach. Though, he won’t have that problem tonight. Not with Shiro sitting across from him looking better than even Hunk’s cooking.

Dieu. Their shift is over, why are they here? They made it clear over the week that they want more than just the physical, but… Merde. They can talk and bond anywhere anytime. He can hardly feel Shiro up in the middle of the cafeteria.

“You lose, Curtis.”

Curtis shakes his head and looks to his left where Mei Hedrick sits. Right. She’s here too. She’s Veronica’s replacement and apparently, she was told that Curtis would be looking after her during her tenure here. So, Shiro invited her to join them for dinner as a welcome.

“What?”

Mei swivels her spork between him and Shiro. “Your staring contest. You blinked so you lose.”

“I guess I did.”

Mortified that he was caught making eyes, Shiro coughs and ducks his face towards his tray. Curtis nudges his knee with his. The tips of Shiro’s ears go a little pink and he decides that’s enough for now and engages their third wheel in conversation. Asks Mei what she likes to do while Shiro recovers.

“I like chess. I heard Slav say that you’re a good chess player.”

“Really?” Curtis sips his water. “I’m surprised. Last time we played he told me I die sad and alone in 26% of realities.”

Shiro lifts his head. “He said that?”

Curtis nudges his knee under the table again. “It’s okay. It’s how we trash-talk. I remind him how nice it is that in every reality I can reach the top shelf.”

Mei giggles, “so, wanna play a game?”

“Careful,” Shiro warns good-naturedly, “he cheats.”

“I do not cheat! My bishop worked very hard to become a cardinal and how is it his fault if he was elected pope?”

“There’s no pope in chess!” Shiro half-shouts.

“Fine by me,” Mei says, drawing their attention back to her. “My king’s a Lutheran and therefore doesn’t recognize the authority of the Pope.”

Curtis grins. Horniness forgotten he salivates at a real challenge. Mei abandons her tray and runs back to her room for the chess set. Shiro raps his nails against the tabletop in annoyance. This will only delay them, he knows, but he can’t help it.

“One game to make Mei happy,” Curtis promises. Then lowers his voice so only Shiro can hear, “then I’ll make you very, _very_ happy.”

He can see Shiro’s adam’s apple bob as he gulps at the implication. Curtis enjoys it, already thinking of how many other involuntary reactions he can get Shiro to have once they’re alone.

“Make it a quick game.”

He does make it quick. His knights have been training in the art of the ninja and now can move as one with the shadows, AKA being able to move to any black space on the board.

“And would you look at that, checkmate.”

“There aren’t any ninjas in chess!”

“I allowed your Lutheran king. Why can’t I have ninjas?"

Mei rolls her eyes and just as she’s demanding a re-match, Shiro stands. They both look to him on instinct. When the captain stands, it’s almost impossible not to stand at attention.

“Sorry, Mei. But there’s something I have to talk to Curtis about before tomorrow. Is it okay if I steal him?”

“Sure thing.” Mei looks with a little suspicion between the two of them. “Raincheck?”

Curtis nods. “Sounds good. Captain?”

They hightail it out of the cafeteria. They’re practically racing. They have to slow it down and play it casual whenever someone else is in the hall, but they can’t play it casual. All stiff arms and bitten lips. It’s a miracle no one laughs right in their faces. Just as they turn the corner into the wing for the officer’s quarters, he touches Shiro’s shoulder.

“I need to grab something. I’ll meet you in your room?”

Shiro looks curious as to what it is, but doesn’t ask, only nods and squeezes Curtis’ hand before he goes.

Iverson’s changing out of his uniform into gym clothes when he enters.

“Where you’ve been?”

“At dinner,” Curtis answers perfunctorily as he goes to his still unpacked bag.

“Want to grab a quick workout with me?”

“Sorry, can’t.” Curtis pulls out what he’s looking for: a colored paper plate with a ribbon stapled to it. He holds it face down so Iverson can’t read the word APPROVED written in large red letters with crayon. “My niece made something for the captain, and I promised her I’d give it to him before the end of the day.”

Iverson grunts as he wrangles a t-shirt on, “fine. Try and find out if something’s bothering him. He seemed antsy today.”

Curtis chokes down a laugh and nods. “Will do.”

He rushes out of the room and darts down the hall so Iverson won’t see him entering Shiro’s room. Which is good actually, because the door isn’t even half-closed when Shiro kisses him. All mashing lips, swirling tongues and eager hands.

Dieu. Merde. Quiznack. Why didn’t he blow off Mei sooner?

“What’s this?” Shiro comes up for air and looks at the slightly crushed plate between them.

“This is your seal of approval,” Curtis chuckles. “Nica wants to talk numbers when you can.”

Shiro laughs and the sexual tension dissipates as he takes it in his hands. “It looks like Anissa made it.”

“She did.”

“I love it," Shiro grins up at him, kissing his cheek, "thank you.” 

Shiro steps away to put it gingerly on his desk. It does stupid, stupid things to the feelings he already has for this man. He puts one on the nape of his neck and guides him back into another series of kisses. More exploratory than desperate. Hands smooth over the angles of hips, the curves of their backs, squeezing, groping, caressing.

“Can I...?” Shiro breathes as he fingers the top button of his jacket.

“Yeah.”

Curtis mirrors him, undoing the buttons down Shiro’s chest, outpacing him even. He kisses his neck as he pushes it from his shoulders, nips his collarbone when Shiro slips off his. Their undershirts remain, but the material is thinner, more easily ducked under to feel the hot skin underneath.

Shiro all but wilts against him as he drags his nails gently down his back. He grins victoriously and runs the blunt edges of his teeth over an earlobe.

“Bed?”

“Please.”

Shiro loses his shirt before they make it there. He sits down and Curtis leans over him, one knee already on the bed. He pulls his shirt off and grins down at him, Shiro grins back, but his eyes wander. Confidence blooms in his chest. He likes having Shiro’s eyes shamelessly glued to him.

But Shiro stares too long. The smolder in his eye burns out and his shoulders suddenly hunch. His breathing even changes.

“Shiro?”

Shiro blinks and shakes his head before looking down at his shoes. His voice sounds choked as he exhales a sad little, “sorry.”

Curtis freezes in place. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No. I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

Too many seconds pass as Shiro tries to collect himself. Worry overcomes him. He kneels down in front of him, carefully puts his hands on either side of Shiro’s face and tilts it so he can look him in the eye.

“Sweetheart, talk to me.”

Shiro swallows, lips trembling. “You’ll think I’m a hypocrite.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It’s not until Curtis puts his forehead against his and closes his eyes that Shiro says what it is.

“It’s your scar.”

That does seem hypocritical. He has a nasty scar. The skin pocked and pitted and pink along the one side, but he doesn’t expect Shiro of all people to be bothered by it. Seeing as Shiro’s easily the most scarred person he’s been with. He’s felt the raised ridges on his back, kissed the one across his nose, seen the ones across his torso, and he doesn’t doubt there’s still more. But he doesn’t voice any of that. It’s not helpful. It won’t get him the answer he wants.

“Okay,” he says trying to keep his tone from sounding critical. “What is it about my scar?”

Shiro’s hands come and grip his hard. “I saw it before it became a scar.”

Curtis eyes fly open. He can’t mean… “What do you mean?”

Shiro’s thumbs run over his knuckles. Both their eyes watch the movement. “The ship you were on, it wrecked after you sabotaged it. There was so much debris. We knew where you were, but none of the equipment we could use to dig you out was small enough to use without risking burying you further, so…”

Curtis eyes the Altean arm. “You dug me out.”

“Slav helped too.” Shiro chuckles at the irony. “It’s one of the few times we’ve worked well together. I’d clear something and he’d crawl in, find the next safe spot for me to excavate.”

Curtis takes a steadying breath. He’s never thought about how he was found before. He didn’t care. He was safe. The twelve planets of the Cicasrs system were saved. How awful it must have been.

“Merde, now I have stop teasing him about being short.”

He earns a breath of a laugh from Shiro. He takes the tiny victory before they return to the subject at hand.

“Why did no one tell me?”

“You didn’t remember it, which isn’t a surprise. You were unconscious when we found you. I could see all your ribs. I was terrified to carry you too tight or one of your organs would come spilling out, or one of your broken ribs would stab you. I… I wasn’t exactly looking forward to telling you about it if you asked.”

“So when you saw the scar-“

“Flashback,” Shiro says, “it was like I was back there again. Checking your pulse, smelling the-“

Curtis leans forward kisses him. It’s probably a bad way to bring Shiro back to the present. Sets a bad precedent, but it’s what he can do for right now. He pulls away when he feels Shiro respond in kind.

“You with me now?”

Shiro nods. Curtis reaches for his discarded shirt and throws it back on. Shiro frowns.

“I’m sorry I ruined the mood.”

Curtis shakes his head and sits on the bed with him, starts unlacing his boots. “C’mon. Take your shoes off.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you and it’ll be more comfortable without the boots.”

Shiro gives a weak laugh but complies. They climb into Shiro’s bed shoeless, but no longer shirtless. It’s not the evening he envisioned, but they are at least alone together. He got spoiled on being able to touch Shiro at the McClain’s, so having Shiro rest his head against his chest is good. It’s more than good and it’s what they need right now.

Curtis feels tentative fingers trace the outline of his scar over his shirt. He kisses Shiro’s forehead. “You okay?”

“Better now. Just trying to get used to it, associate it with something good.”

“Like?”

Shiro splays his fingers over it, pushing down with a gentle pressure as if testing to make sure it won’t hurt him, which it doesn’t. It hardly ever hurts excepting when he twists too far to one side or the other. “Like, how this made me realize how real my feelings for you were.”

“I had no idea. Not back then. I mean, I hoped… Why didn’t you say anything if you were so sure?”

“Almost did a couple times, but the timing always felt off.”

Curtis chuckles, “so when I was drunk and handsy felt like the right time?”

“No, it was your smile.” Shiro’s hand stills for a second, then he raises himself up on the human arm to look at him. “I missed it.”

Curtis can’t even fathom the depths of devotion he sees in Shiro’s eyes. He laughs if only to get air into his lungs, but it’s too late. He’s capsized, he’s drowned. The water that kills him tastes sweet.

“You can’t just say that. You can’t be that romantic and not kiss me. It’s against the law.”

Shiro leans down and rectifies his mistake. Later, Curtis plans to tell him when he knew his feelings were real. He’ll tell him how long he wanted to touch him. He’ll tell him everything he wants to know. But right now he sinks and sinks and _sinks._

* * *

“You don’t have to leave. You can stay,” Shiro says. Paper-thin sheets pool in his bare lap as he sits up to watch him. When Curtis grabs his pants, Shiro’s voice fills with irritation, “stop getting dressed and come back to bed.”

Curtis finishes buttoning his pants with a wry smile. “So greedy.”

“Do you blame me? You taste good.”

That lures him back over. And _yes_. He can still taste himself on Shiro’s tongue. And _yes_. That messy kind of thing turns him on. Shiro hauls him closer by the band of his pants, his softer hand reaching down and grabbing-

“Mmm. Soooo, so greedy.” Curtis half-moans as he pulls his hand away. Shiro grumbles at his failed seduction. Curtis kisses away the furrow in his brow.

“If I leave now, I can tell Iverson that we just lost track of time talking and he’ll believe me. But if I let you tempt me into staying, he’ll know. Anyone who sees me leave with a wrinkled uniform will know.”

Shiro hums, “do you care if they know?”

“I care if they think I’m some slut who’s trying to get special treatment from the captain.”

Shiro’s brow furrows again. “Don’t call yourself a slut.”

Curtis combs back Shiro’s little hair floof and meets his eyes. “That’s what they’ll call me, sweetheart. If we don’t manage how people find out they’ll come up with their own story and in that story I’ll be the trashy bimbo who seduces the captain who’s too nice to say no.”

“Or, I’ll be the creepy captain who goes after his subordinates.”

“See? That isn’t any better.”

Shiro sighs and tugs on Curtis’ waist band again. When he gives in and rejoins him on the bed, Shiro wraps his arms around Curtis’ shoulders. “How do you think we should play it then?”

Together they strategize, something they’ve always done well together. Something bettered by kisses that act as punctuation. They'll tell their friends directly. Anyone who asks can have the truth: they're dating, but that's all they get. They divide up the Atlas into zones of appropriate relationship actions. The bridge is a no-go zone. Business only there. No feeling-up in the cafeteria or the gym, though overt making eyes is allowed. They can do what they like in their personal quarters, of course.

“And what about the conference room?” Curtis asks.

“What about it?”

“Well obviously we won’t do anything when people are in there, but what about afterwards? Do we get to defile it then?”

He snags Curtis bottom lip between his teeth. “Don’t give me any ideas that you aren’t willing to follow-through on.”

That’s when Curtis bends his head and tells Shiro _exactly_ what ideas he has for them and that table. Shiro both melts and hardens under him. It takes them awhile to get back to their original topic.

Shiro proposes a simple no PDA plan for all the general areas of the Atlas. Curtis asserts that as a French-American man, he _will_ spontaneously combust if he’s not allowed to hold his boyfriend’s hand every once in a while. Shiro concedes that light PDA is acceptable when they’re out of uniform. Curtis accepts.

“Anything else?” Shiro asks through a yawn. Having moved so his head can lay on Curtis’ thigh while Curtis combs his fingers through his hair, he’s almost asleep.

Curtis hates to even bring it up, “one thing, but you might not like it.”

Shiro’s eyes open, focused. “Try me.”

“We should come up with a codeword. A codeword that we can say and whenever _either_ of us uses it, it means we stop what we’re doing and discuss. No anger, no guilt.”

Shiro springs up and turns around. He’s insulted. Embarrassed. “This is about the flashback I had earlier? Curt, I swear it’s a non-issue. Since I started seeing Retkins they’ve rarely happened.”

“But they still do happen right?” Then there were the nightmares too. And those were just the things Curtis currently knew about. He tries to be as gentle as possible, but he’s not going to drop it either. It’s too important.

“Tell me honestly. Would you have been able to get naked with me tonight if we hadn’t stopped to talk about it? Would you have ever told me about digging me out if I hadn’t asked?”

Shiro’s silence says everything. He starts curling in on himself, shoulders hunching and hair falling in his eyes.

“Can I hold your hand?” Curtis asks, holding out his own with the palm up.

Shiro drops his metal hand in his, still refusing to look up. “I’m not fragile you know. You don’t have to ask.”

“I didn’t want to risk watching you pull away because you’re angry with me.”

Shiro immediately intertwines their fingers. Slowly his face rises from the shadows and their eyes meet again. “I’m not angry with you. I just… I just wish I wasn’t so broken. I want to be good for you, Curt.”

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. You are _so good_ for me.”

Edging forward Curtis holds him, gives him soft, chaste kisses. Tries to impart just a tenth of the tsunami of emotions crashing down on him. Shiro leans into him. Accepts the affection. Curtis smiles at him between kisses.

“It’s not just for you. The codeword I mean. I’ve had my fair share of trauma and haven’t done nearly the work you’ve done on examining it. Who knows what my triggers are.”

That seems to ease Shiro further into the idea. That it’s not all about him. He’s not the emotional burden on the relationship if it’s for both of them.

“I did hire another therapist for the crew, you know. You could always talk to her, or Retkins. If you wanted.”

“I’ll consider it.” And he will, Curtis decides. Afterall, Shiro’s an excellent example of how it can help. “So, you pick the codeword?”

Shiro’s head slumps onto his shoulder. “Can I sleep on it? Not the idea. I’m on board, but I don’t think I can come up with a word now.”

“Of course.” It’s late, they traded blowjobs, had difficult conversations; he’s tired too. He removes himself from the bed, finds his shirt and slips it on. Then he turns off the light. He doesn’t leave, instead finding Shiro’s arm glowing in the dark and following it back to bed.

“You’re staying?”

“Yeah.” He lays down next to him and throws an arm over Shiro’s middle. Other people be damned. He can stay a little longer “Just until you fall asleep.”

There’s another yawn as Shiro settles back against Curtis’ chest. “Night.”

“Bonne nuit.”


	13. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finds out about Curtis's new boyfriend and that eventual smut that was promised in the tags happens. It's after the page break if you need or want to skip it.

Stage by stage the rest of the ATLAS crew learns that he’s seeing Shiro. Iverson’s the first. Just as Curtis sneaks back inside his room, having fallen asleep when he hadn’t meant to in Shiro’s bed, the light switches on and like a disappointed parent, Iverson stands fully dressed and waiting for him.

“You’re in late, Hartfield.”

His tone reminds him of his grandmother on his father’s side. She lived in the tiniest town to be found in Texas and her house was incredibly boring. One night, he and Elliott decided to sneak out. They were going to take the car, and ride to the next town over to find something to do. They hadn’t accounted for their granny, an old lady who spent her days sporadically napping and her nights sitting in her rocking chair with a shotgun across her lap, staring out into the darkness.

Just as they reached the front yard, they heard her voice call out, “ain’t nuthin’ but thieves an coyotes out here. An I’m happy to shoot both.”

He and Elliott slunk right back into the house.

He only wishes he could slink right back to Shiro’s room. His tongue fumbles around an explanation. He had one planned out, why was it so hard to say now?

Iverson sighs and crosses his arms, “as glad as I am that you two have stopped dancing around each other, you still need your sleep, Sergeant.”

Curtis’ mouth dries up. “Were… Are we that obvious, sir?”

“I’m only blind in the one eye, son,” Iverson says as he muscles by him on the way out the door.

Well.

Hunk is the second stage. Shiro tells him. Curtis finds this out when Hunk ensnarls him in a hug that lifts him right off his feet when he’s in line for lunch two days later.

“Shiro told me all about it! I’m so happy for you!” Hunk swings him side to side before he sets him down.

Curtis tries to refill his lungs with air as he stares in mild terror at Hunk. Out of all the paladins Curtis finds him the most intimidating. Sure, Keith is part of a guild of rebel spies, and Pidge is some form of gremlin, and Lance has acres and acres of land to bury him in, but Hunk? It’s always the sweet, unassuming ones that do the cruelest things. He hasn’t forgotten that one kitchen shift. Everyone else would kill him quick. Hunk would make him do the dishes first.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Oh, before I forget.” Hunk unfolds a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Those are all the ways we- and by we I mean the paladins, Matt Holt, Coran, even Krolia made a few suggestions- can kill you if you break his heart. I didn’t think it’s all that necessary, but I’m just the messenger.”

Curtis makes a quick scan of the list. Oh look, drowning in dirty dishwater is number twelve. Just the messenger his ass.

“You know what? If I do Shiro wrong, I’ll just throw myself out an airlock. It’ll be quick. No mess. And none of you have dirty your hands.” Curtis returns the list.

“Oh. Okay, sure. Krolia was real excited about number seven though,” Hunk says, looking at the paper forlornly, as if it’d be a letdown for Shiro to end up happy.

With a weak, worried laugh he pats his shoulder and rejoins the line. Later Shiro assures him that his friends mean no harm. Then, in a moment that Curtis will admit to being just too cliché, he assures Shiro that they won’t ever have cause to use their list.

Next comes the MFEs, all four approach them when he and Shiro have just stepped out of a meeting with the engineer department.

“Is it true?” James Griffin starts the conversation with zero pleasantries. “That you two are dating?”

Curtis and Shiro look to each other and then to him. Shiro answers, one eyebrow cocked as if to say: what’s it to you?

“We are.”

“Really?” Ryan speaks up behind him, “you two don’t seem like anything’s changed.”

Ina corrects him. “Not so. Their feet are pointed directly at each other despite engaging us in conversation, a signal that their attention is really on the other. Then there’s the signs of attraction like the dilated pupils and the-“

“That’s enough, Leifsdottir,” Shiro stops her and Curtis stifles a smile at the pink that creeps up the back of Shiro’s neck. “Since you’re here Griffin, let’s talk about those battle simulations you requested.”

Curtis loses focus on the new topic as Rizavi loops her arm through his, turning him away from the others. She smiles at him from behind her hand.

“Don’t mind Griffin. He’s just upset that the guy he likes isn’t single anymore.”

Both surprised and unsurprised to hear this, Curtis glances over Shiro and Griffin. Griffin makes brief, uncomfortable eye contact with him before returning his conversation. Curtis grimaces, feeling sorry for the kid.

“I feel for him, but I’m pretty happy to be the one to take Shiro off the market.”

“Who said anything about it being the captain?”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head and Rizavi laughs.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” she says waggling her eyebrows, “now it’s your turn. Sharing is caring.”

Sure, he’s gladly gossiped with her in the past. She probably feels especially entitled to know things since he’s now a subject of the rumor mill. But, unfortunately for her, there’s only three people in the universe truly entitled to details. Two reside on Earth currently. The third… Well, he can get Curtis to sing like a canary with the right flick of his tongue.

“Nope.” He takes a little pleasure in miming a lock and key on his mouth.

“You’re no fun,” Nadia says before she’s pulled away by the retreating group of fellow pilots.

Curtis can only shrug. He shares a smile with Shiro and returns to duty.

It trickles down from there and soon their relationship becomes common knowledge, then after a few weeks, a boring factoid. He hasn’t heard any whispers of favoritism or scandal about them and he hopes that continues to be the case. He’d hate for something that’s been so easy, so good to be broken-up by someone else’ festering hurt feelings.

Right now, he watches an old animated Japanese movie with Shiro. Seated on the floor of Shiro’s room with a bucket of whatever the alien equivalent of popcorn is between them, a blanket slung over their shoulders, Curtis radiates contentment.

“ _Your_ hair is like starlight,” he quotes one of the protagonists as he turns his head and kisses Shiro’s temple.

“Shhh,” Shiro shushes him. “You’ll miss the ending.”

He’s learned that Shiro is a stickler for watching a movie in silence. No distractions. Hence why they are on the floor. The bed is for sleep or for sex and they’ve determined that they get very little of the former if they’re allowed any of the latter.

Curtis just kisses his temple again and focuses for the last five minutes of the film. By some fortune his tablet only rings when they reach the end credits. He reads the name that pops up

“Merde. It’s Acxa,” he answers it right away, “hey, Shiro’s here with me is everything okay?”

“Yes, but we need to speak in private”

“Uh sure.” Curtis stumbles to his feet, afterall this is Shiro’s room- he can hardly ask him to step out.

“Stay here.” Shiro stops him, grabbing the popcorn bucket. “I’ll go return this. Take all the time you need.”

Shiro pops a kiss to his cheek before he makes his way out of the room. Touched, but more concerned about Acxa calling him out of the blue, he focuses on the call.

“What’s going on?”

“Hold on. Keith, he’s alone.”

Acxa’s replaced with Keith. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Confused, Curtis gives an awkward wave. “So… Is this another shovel talk?”

“No. It’s about Shiro’s birthday. You know it’s in a phoeb right?”

Does he know his boyfriend’s birthday? Yes. February 29th. Did he remember that it’s roughly a month away? No.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you have anything planned for it? He’s turning 30 and I want to surprise him.” Curtis doesn’t know Keith all that well. From what he’s seen only the paladins and a few of the Blades like Acxa can really read him. Still, he can hear the hint of excitement in his voice.

They plot together. Literally plot because to reorganize the Atlas’ schedule and keep it a secret from Shiro requires a tangible amount of treason. Curtis shouldn’t agree to do it. He could lose his position on the Atlas. Get court-martialed. But he goes ahead with their plain. He’s long since learned that rules bend for the paladins.

“I’ll keep you updated if anything changes on our end,” he tells Keith.

“Tell Acxa and she’ll get it to me. I don’t want Shiro to get suspicious if we start talking out of the blue.”

That explains the weird start to this conversation. “Do you mind if I talk to her before you hang-up?”

Keith shrugs and switches the feedback to Acxa. “Yes, Curtis?”

“Where are you going to be during all of this?” Curtis asks. Acxa’s official, unofficial role is Keith’s bodyguard. With his mother setting up the government on New Daibazaal and all the enemies he’s made throughout his tenure with Voltron… well it was either get a partner or get benched.

“I was going to remain on the Atlas.”

“Well, while they go do whatever, we can hang out then.”

Acxa raises both eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“If rescuing Veronica together doesn’t make us friends I don’t know what will.”

“Alright. We’ll hang out then.”

They sign-off with well-wishes to stay safe before Curtis drags himself off the floor in search of Shiro. He’s in the first place he looks, chatting with Hunk over a plate of cookies in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Shiro opens his arm to one side to let Curtis slide in next to him. It’s only Hunk present and despite the murder list, he thinks they’re cute together. “Everything okay with Acxa?”

“Everything’s good. She’s just private is all.”

“Hmm. Oh, Hunk. Where’s the recipe you wanted him to translate?”

“Oh yeah!”

As Hunk turns his back to grab a tablet, Shiro sneaks a cookie-crumble kiss. Curtis smiles, having no time to retaliate before Hunk shows him a recipe for croissants in the original French. Curtis translates as Hunk preps. It’s the most French he’s used since he last saw his mother. Shiro’s heavy, steady hand stroking his side and Hunk’s frenzied energy stave off the sting.

Deciding they didn’t want to stay up to watch the dough proof nearly as much as Hunk does, they say their goodnights. Shiro’s arm retracts as they exit the kitchen. They’re old news by now, but Shiro’s still shy about PDA.

“You’re happy, right?” Shiro asks as Curtis slips into bed with him to sleep for the fifth night in a row, “I mean, I like how this is going. I’m happy with it.”

Curtis nods, running a hand through Shiro’s silvery hair. “I’m very happy. Mon… étoile.”

“Eat-all?”

“Étoile,” Curtis corrects giggling.

“A twat.” Shiro screws-up his face in fake insult. “That’s not a nice thing to call someone.”

“Que triste, mon étoile. Warui, warui,” he mixes languages, kisses Shiro’s nose.

Shiro turns with an indignant huff and Curtis follows him, spoons him. Shiro likes to be the little spoon. Curtis likes to give him exactly what he wants. He refrains from kissing the back of Shiro’s neck. Shiro likes that too, but not for going to sleep. 

“Bonne nuit,” Shiro tries, but his accent is atrocious and Curtis buries his smile in Shiro’s shoulder.

“Night.”

* * *

“Captain, can we talk after the meeting?”

Shiro’s mouth turns down the slightest bit. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Curtis smiles, sad that he can’t kiss away the worried frown on his face yet. “Of course. It’s just birthday stuff.”

Shiro’s face brightens, “ _my_ birthday stuff?"

“Focus, sir,” he teases, drifting into the conference room with the others.

When the meeting ends, Shiro comes and leans against the table next to his chair. “So, birthday stuff?”

Curtis nods, watching the door, “you’re getting a surprise tomorrow and a surprise tonight.”

“Is that all you’re going to tell me? That I’m going to be surprised?” Shiro asks as the last person strolls out.

Curtis ignores the skepticism in his voice. He’ll find out soon enough. He stands and goes to lock the doors. Shiro’s stare burns into his back.

“Curt.”

He comes back to him, meeting the curious look spot-on. Stepping in between Shiro’s knees and slides his hands up his thighs. His lovely, thick, muscly thighs. Shiro shivers under him.

“We’re still in uniform,” he reminds, but leans into the hand Curtis moves to his cheek.

“And you do look so good in your uniform, captain.” He kisses him. Prodding gently, he gets Shiro to open to him, tongues curling, time slipping.

Shiro’s lips ghost over his, wet, warm. He huffs a laugh, “is this my surprise? A romp in the conference room?”

Curtis hums and pets the nape of Shiro’s neck, “I was going to jump out of a cake, but Hunk said he didn’t have enough batter.”

“This is better,” Shiro says, leaning back, his arms around Curtis’ neck. “How are we going to play this?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, captain.”

“Whatever I want?”

Curtis nods, pressing his lips to the corner of Shiro’s mouth, moving closer and bearing all his weight against him. “We’re in uniform. That means you’re still my commanding officer. So…” Curtis pulls at Shiro’s bottom lip. “Command. Me.”

Shiro’s eyes turn molten. The hands on Curtis’ hips dig-in. And it’s the hardest kiss Shiro’s ever given him. He giggles under the pressure.

“Undress.”

“Yes, sir.”

He takes a half-step back to strip. Close enough so Shiro can touch him, but far enough so Shiro can watch. And he knows how much Shiro likes to watch. As he bends to undo his bootlaces he turns _just so_ and he swears he hears Shiro’s dick spring to attention.

“Come here,” Shiro’s voice shakes a little, “kiss me.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walks into Shiro’s arms, groaning as Shiro pushes himself against the line of his body. His hands roam. Up and down his back, over his ass, around his torso. Curtis presses closer. Shiro’s jacket buttons a muted chill against his skin.

“Captain…” His voice is a slight whine. Tonight might be about whatever Shiro wants, but he has wants too. More friction. More skin. More everything.

“Yes, sergeant?” Shiro laughs, running his thumb under Curtis’ chin. “How about you get on your knees?”

“Yes, sir.”

He gets on his knees. He looks up at Shiro and waits. Oh, he’ll do what he’s told, but only what he’s told. No more, no less. Shiro sulks above him and undoes his zipper and pulls down the fabric covering his ready cock.

“Suck me off.”

He obliges. He goes slow though, teasing. No reason to rush the job if Shiro hasn’t asked for it. Shiro likes to be worked over thoroughly, to be spoiled. They have the time and there’s no better time to do it than his birthday. If Shiro wants, he’ll stay in here all night and blow him.

There’s a low groan, “Curt.”

He slides back and kisses the tip, stalling. Shiro scowls down at him. Impatient hips buck.

“Don’t stop until I paint that pretty mouth of yours white with cum.”

Sufficiently spurred, he starts again. Honestly, Shiro has the filthiest mouth when they’re alone. Curtis adores it. He is a hobby linguist after all. Words are kind of his thing.

When Shiro does cum, he breathily orders Curtis to swallow. He would smile if his lips weren’t already occupied. Swallow, he orders, like Curtis has ever done any different. As Shiro empties out, he twists his tongue around the head. He makes a show of pumping with his hand as if he’s trying to get out every drop.

“What are your orders now, sir?” his voice wrecked.

There’s a gleam in Shiro’s eyes as he helps Curtis stand. Having been on his knees too long, his legs are numb and he leans into Shiro’s chest. Shiro kisses his cheek.

“I’m going to work you open, sergeant,” Shiro whispers, arms cradling him for the moment, “and you’re going to tell me how much you like it.”

His boyfriend has a bit of a praise kink. A man like him always works a little harder when someone’s watching, whether he’ll admit it or not. Shiro’s a flyboy. Flyboys don’t get as good as Shiro without something to prove.

“Of course, captain,” Curtis rasps.

He moves to get the bottle of lube he stashed in his bag before the meeting. He hands it to Shiro, who then crushes him back against his chest. Startled, he grabs his lapels.

“Shiro?”

“Trust me.” Shiro kisses him, securing one arm around him to keep in place, the other, metal hand slicked and ready.

He’s bottomed all of two and a half times since they started dating. Shiro likes it more. All three times he’s been prepped, it was with Shiro’s human hand. More intimate, more natural maybe. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care, but tonight-

“Ahh ha.”

Curtis props his head against Shiro’s shoulder. Metal fingers are warmer than expected and circle him only a little before one-digit pushes in.

“Relax for me, sergeant,” Shiro’s whisper is violently tender. Curtis breathes out, tries to unclench.

“Yes, sir.”

The one finger probes deeper, deeper than it should given the angle. But then again, it’s the Altean hand he’s using, it’s not limited in that way. Curtis shudders as a second finger is added and just at the right spot too.

Shiro reminds him of his only job during this, “something to say?”

“Merde. Right there, sir.”

Shiro crooks his fingers and Curtis forgets his own name for a second. “Yes, please, sir. That’s _ooh._ ”

Shiro forgets prep and just rubs the tiniest of circles right over Curtis’ prostate. His legs begin to wobble. His cock rubs right up against Shiro’s wet spent one. It rubs wrong at first, but then there’s sweat and precum as Curtis rocks. Between the frotting and the fingering it’s just… it feels, so, so good.

“Sir. Please. Please. More. You’re so good at this. Too good.”

Shiro starts making long hard strokes against his sweet spot and Curtis feels his knees go a little weak.

“You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”

“What should I call you then, captain?” Curtis uses the conversation to ground himself. Everything is too much. Being pinned against Shiro, at his mercy while he hits every pleasure center he has? He needs a distraction if he’s not going to cum here and now.

“That thing you call me in French.”

Stars collect in the corners of his eyes. “Mon étoile. _Fuck_.”

Too late. All he can do is release. Shiro’s fingers continue to work him over just shy of overstimulation. Slumping, he imagines how Shiro’s cock looks coated in his cum. A mental image he’ll take with him into his next solo session for sure.

“I’m supposed to be giving you the best orgasm in your life, not the other way around,” he complains into Shiro’s clavicle.

There’s a proud hum in Shiro’s chest that buzzes against his ear. Curtis laughs, endorphins surging through his system.

Shiro kisses his hair. “Think you can handle another round?”

Curtis sighs. Right. That was just Shiro prepping him for the main event. He’s going to be a sobbing mess if Shiro gets him off again.

“Anything you want, mon étoile.”

Shiro kisses him deep then. It’s a chance to get their breath back to a regular rhythm, for him to not so discreetly climb out his clothes. Curtis sneaks a look at the hem of Shiro’s jacket. Oh. There’s just the tiniest bit of cum there. Fucking merde. It needs to be Shiro’s birthday at least once a week.

Putting his arms under Curtis’ thighs, Shiro hoists him up and deposits him on the table. A stunt that only makes Shiro hotter in his eyes. Shiro slides between his hips. Curtis wraps his legs around his waist. He breathes through the burn of the stretch as Shiro enters him.

“You alright, Curt?”

“Mmhmm. Oh, yeah. Just thinking I should bottom more often.”

Shiro gives him a proud, predatory smile. He starts to rut into him, drawing out moans. The table even creaks under them. Tears already gather in his eyes. Shiro moves above him, over him, in him like some Greek god. Curtis reaches for him. Gripping starlight hair he pours praise like ambrosia into Shiro’s ears.

“You look gorgeous like this, your perfect cock in me. Fuck. You fill me up so good. Gonna fill me up with that tasty cum, sweetheart? That’ll feel so good. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I’ll touch myself anyway. Merde alors, mon étoile. Fuck me.”

It’s all this jibber-jabber and Shiro’s grunting that keeps them from hearing the creaking turn to cracking.

The table breaks under them.

“Fuck.”

“Ow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Are _you_ okay?”

They separate and scramble away from the wreckage. Once certain they aren’t hurt, Curtis looks back to the ruined table. He can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in him.

“You fucked me through a table! Who actually does- Shiro?”

Oh, no. Shiro stares, frozen. Curtis calls his name two more times. No response.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart.” Curtis sets himself in front of him and grabs his hand. “Mon étoile, squeeze my hands in three…two…one.”

He feels a barely-there-squeeze, but still, it means Shiro can hear him. Whatever this is, flashback or panic attack, he should be able to bring him out of it. He’s glad Shiro made that mental health training mandatory for everyone last month. He uses one of the grounding techniques he learned during it right now.

Name two things you can hear. Three you feel. Four you see. Shiro answers, less and less sluggish each time.

“Alright. Think you can stand and get dressed?”

Shiro nods mutely. Curtis spots him just in case he loses his balance, but he doesn’t. They get redressed in the screaming silence.

“What are we going to do?” Shiro’s voice has an edge of panic to it.

Curtis uses short, simple sentences, “head back to your room. I’ll lock up here. I’ll meet you there.”

Shiro, wordless again, just nods and leaves. Worry bids bile to rise in Curtis’ throat, but he swallows it down. Shiro’s fine. He’s fine. They’re fine. Probably. Hopefully.

He does what he can to clean up before he leaves. When he walks into Shiro’s room, he’s on the edge of the bed. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Curtis lingers by the door. According to the training, it’s probably best not to touch someone until they ask for it, but Curtis doesn’t want to leave either. He stands hunched, angry with himself for putting them in this situation. They were supposed to be sex-high and giggling right now. Not this.

“I’ll have maintenance come take a look at it in the morning.” Shiro says, his voice tired, but even, no longer just a whisper. He looks up. “I could use a shower, want to join me?”

“Just like that?”

“Just like what?” Shiro tilts his head in genuine confusion.

“You were so upset just now and suddenly you’re fine?” Curtis straightens, but maintains his position by the door. “You’re okay? Really?”

Shiro stands. “Yeah. I just had to process that everything was really okay. There was a loud noise, something got broken, you could have gotten hurt, I was naked. I just had to work it out. I’m okay. I promise.”

“And we’re okay? I mean it was my idea and then you got triggered. Are you sure you want to shower with me? We’ll have to touch and I know sometimes you can’t stand that after-“

Shiro crosses the room and pulls him into a hug. Curtis sinks right into it, holding him tight. Okay, so maybe he’s spiraling a little. Shiro’s triggers are usually so obvious, so easily avoided. How was he supposed to help if silly, little accidents like this could make him freeze like that?

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Shiro says into his neck. “We’re okay. Matter of fact, you helped a lot.”

“Yeah?”

Shiro squeezes him and Curtis squeezes back. “You grounded me. You got me away from the stressor. You let me work it out on my own. You did everything right.”

Curtis lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Shiro’s comforting _him_ about his panic attack and it’s ridiculous. Especially since tonight is supposed to be all about Shiro.

Shiro moves and kisses his cheek. “So. Shower?”

“Shower.” Curtis lets Shiro lead him into the bathroom.

The steam feels good even against the forming bruises. He shampoos Shiro’s hair and they stand just holding each other until the water runs lukewarm. It only takes the gentle pull of Shiro’s hand to get him to tumble into bed with him.

Come morning Shiro will be too excited to see Keith to think too much on tonight’s failure. Still, that doesn’t stop Curtis from trying to formulate a better plan for the next year.


	14. Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter! Also, sorry about the delay in updating.

Shiro looks at him in that way that generally leads to him getting exactly what he wants. As if he didn’t get exactly what he wanted this morning for nearly two hours. Curtis steels himself this time. He won’t give in. It’s too much. He refuses. It doesn’t matter how cute Shiro is.

He will not go to the gym for a second time today. No.

“Cuuuurt,” Shiro drawls, stepping a little closer.

“Shiro.” Curtis smooths his face, even a hint of a smile will spur him on. And with Shiro taking his hand now, he doesn’t need the extra pressure.

Just as Shiro opens his mouth to make his argument, his comm buzzes. Curtis pulls it from his pocket so fast he nearly drops it. Raquel’s name flashes on the screen. There, an inarguable out.

"Sorry, sweetheart. It’s Raquel. I’ll catch you after.”

He sprints away. He presses the answer button just as soon as he gets to his empty room.

“Hey. Your timing is perfect. I really, really like Shiro, but he really, really likes the gym and exercising and sweating and weights. And you know I hate all of those things. You saved my-“

Raquel interrupts his gratitude rant to get straight to the point, “I have a date with Marco.”

Curtis needs some water so he could do a spit-take. “As in Marco McClain?”

“The one and only.”

“Well, that’s nice!”

“It’s a disaster. I haven’t been on a first date since… since I was 15!”

“So? It’s Marco, he has the most chill of anyone I know.”

Raquel doesn’t look convinced. “What if it’s awful anyway?”

“Play the widow card.,” Curtis suggests, “say you thought you were ready, but you just aren’t. He’s an ass if he gives you trouble after that.”

Raquel nods, but adds, her voice sounding even more panicked than before, “what if it goes _well_?”

“Sleep with him.”

Raquel narrows her eyes. If they were having this conversation in person, she’d throw something at him. Curtis rolls his eyes and lets Raquel run through her excuses and reasons to cancel, until one just demands a response from him.

“I mean, what would Elliott think?”

That stings. Elliott would hate the idea of Raquel with anyone else. Anyone else potentially raising Anissa. When Raquel got pregnant and Elliott wanted to marry her, everyone thought it was a bad idea. They were kids themselves. They would change. They would grow apart. Their kid would just get put in the middle of the divorce drama down the road. They were about to have a baby, Raquel just got disowned, why would they add the stress of marriage to all that?

“Getting pregnant was an accident, but not a mistake. I want it. Raquel wants it,” Elliott had told him in one of their last late-night talks in their play shack. “She’s the love of my life, Curt. I just _know_ she is.”

A little lost in the memories, Raquel prompts him to answer, “well? Do you think it’s too soon?”

“You’re the only one who can decide that, but I think if it was too soon, you wouldn’t have said yes in the first place.”

She nods just a little, her lower lips begins to wobble, “I just don’t want to betray him.”

His chest tightens in response. “The vows are til death do you part, cher. You’re not betraying him.”

Raquel opens her mouth, but Anissa come running into the room asking about her math project. When she sees who’s on the call, she starts waving.

“Where’s Shiro?”

Curtis laughs, still a little stunned at the abrupt change of topic, “good to see you too, babycakes. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Anissa sighs and drops her shoulders. “Hi Uncle Curt. It’s good to see you. Where’s Shiro?”

“Leave him be, Nissa. We gotta go. Homework,” Raquel says.

They exchange goodbyes. Curtis logs off the tablet. Looking up finally, he blinks. This isn’t his room. This is _Shiro’s_ room. Dammit.

He turns and tries to leave, but Shiro walks in, just as surprised as he is to see him here. His expression turns concerned when he spots the tablet in Curtis’ hands.

“Everything okay at home?”

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” Curtis assures him, wincing as he forces the truth out, “I just… Um… I thought I walked into my own room to take the call?”

Shiro smiles, beams even. He kisses to his cheek before moving past to hang up his jacket. “Well, you do sleep here often enough.”

There’s no hiding the snicker in his voice. It infects Curtis’ mood, a smirk appearing on his own lips. Often is an understatement. He hasn’t slept in his garrison issued bunk since Shiro’s birthday. Over a month ago.

He walks over and wraps his arms around Shiro’s now bare torso, trapping his arms in the work-out shirt he’s trying to put on. He dots kisses along his neck down to his shoulder and back. Shiro hums under him and leans back against his chest. Curtis holds him tighter, pausing in his kisses to let Shiro’s heat and weight bleed into him.

“Would you rather I slept somewhere else?”

Shiro chuckles, shakes his head. He leans his head back to nip at Curtis’s ear. He misses, landing on his jaw. The same shiver courses down Curtis’ spine regardless. He turns his head and immediately finds Shiro’s mouth for a kiss.

“Mmm, before we get too distracted,” Shiro tilts his head away. “Hunk’s invited us to something.”

“Us? As in you and me?”

“No. Me and Mei. Of course, you and me.”

Curtis sticks his tongue out and drops his arms from around Shiro so he can finish putting his shirt on. “Alright. What is it?”

“His courting ceremony. Apparently, Shay and Hunk need to be officially bonded before her family will give permission for her to leave the Balmera. Hunk’s parents can’t travel out for it and only couples are allowed to attend, so… What do you think? It’d mean a lot to him and I’m the only one of the paladins that can make it since you know…”

Shiro trails off, his hand gesturing at empty air. Lance and Allura could have, if Allura was alive. What a double slap to the face, to not have your best friend there just because his girlfriend who was also your friend died.

“Did you honestly think I’d say no?” Curtis asks, clucking his tongue in false disappointment.

“I just know you’re scared of Hunk.”

“I have a _healthy_ respect for Hunk.”

“Ahuh,” Shiro smirks. “But, I can tell Hunk we’re going?”

“We’re going.” Curtis pecks his cheek.

“Then I’m going to go tell him.” Shiro returns the kiss, this time on the lips. “Then maybe we can meet in the lounge and play something? Scrabble sound good?”

“You don’t want to go to the gym anymore?”

“I do, but I figure a board game means I get what I really want. Which is just time with you.”

Curtis catches his face in his hands and kisses him hard. It’s entirely unfair that his boyfriend is this perfect. Then it hits him.

“You’re just angling for me to go with you again in the morning!”

Shiro shrugs with his palms up as he backs out of the room. “What? Nooo. I hate work-outs with you. It’s awful watching you. Oh, look the door.”

Curtis glares after him. Then he leaves for his actual room to change out of his uniform. If he’s getting dragged to the gym tomorrow, he’s going to get a game of dominoes out of Shiro too.

* * *

In a few days, he takes a shuttle with Hunk and Shiro to the Balmera. Hunk and Shiro tried describing it to him, even showing him a few pictures, but none of it does the Balmera justice. Fields of electric blue crystal against red sand stuns him into silence.

They follow Hunk off the ship and into the well that leads to the underground tunnels. Hunk explains that while the Balmerans are adjusted to the surface, they still like to hold their more cultural customs beneath ground, closer to the heart of the Balmera. Curtis steps with care, the Balmera is alive after all, and he’s not in-tune with its sensitivity like he is with the Atlas.

After winding down several tunnels, they enter a large cavern. Nearly the size of a football field, but far less regular. The blue crystals freckle the orange stone walls, ceiling and floor, all various sizes, but all glowing. In the middle of this cavern are a group of Balmerans. There’s one that all of them seem to be making a fuss about. That must be Shay and her family.

Hunk runs to Shay, calling her name. She picks him up and spins him around with a giggle that echoes. Shiro laces their fingers together as they approach, metal as warm as ever against Curtis’s skin.

“Shiro, oh it is so good to see you!” Shay says after she spots them, “don’t you and your date look handsome!”

As representatives of the coalition as well as Hunk’s guests, they wear dress uniforms. Shiro practically glitters with the medals on his breast. Shiro had harrumphed the entire time he had gotten dressed that morning, but he does look especially good.

“Thank you for having us, Shay. This is my boyfriend, Curtis.”

The tiny, jade green gems that glow around the collar of her smock give her smile an unsettling tinge, but it has all the warmth of a human smile to him. “It is very nice to meet you, Curtis.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m excited to see what a Balmeran courting ceremony is.”

Shay starts her explanation as the other Balmerans hand Shiro and Curtis each a large earthen bowl that takes two hands to hold. The contents look suspiciously like dead bugs and dirty water.

“Hunk and I will start on opposites sides of the cavern. Everyone else will stand clear of the middle except my grandmother. As matriarch of the family she will lead the ceremony. She will ask questions that both Hunk and I have to answer. In response to each question, we have the choice to either step forward into the relationship, or step away. Everytime one of us steps forward, you will sip from your bowls.”

“How long do these things normally last?”

“Vargas usually. As the Balmera is the one who usually brings people together and thus the ceremony takes longer to bring strangers close enough to form into one unit. It has been altered since Hunk and I know each other so well already, so only a varga or so.”

“Seems rather intricate just so you can join the Atlas crew,” Shiro says.

“Is it? Hunk has told me much about human marriages and they seem just as intricate.”

Human marriages? Curtis shares a look with Shiro. Shay is called away by one of her family members and Shiro grabs Hunk by the sleeve of his dress jacket.

“Hunk. Are you getting _married_?” Shiro whispers, eyebrows knitted together.

Hunk casts a glance at the Balmerans than gestures for them to huddle up.

“Listen. The Balmerans don’t have a concept of casual dating. You’re either part of a family unit, or you’re forming your own. Obviously, Shay’s family won’t like the idea of her going to work on the Atlas if she doesn’t have a family unit established.”

“Alright, fine. So this is just to appease her family? You two don’t actually think of this as a wedding?”

Hunk opens his mouth and when nothing comes out he just shrugs.

“HUNK!” Shiro whisper-shouts. “You’re getting married right _now_? _Today_?”

“Why not?” Both Curtis and Hunk ask at the same time.

Hunk grins big at him. “Aw, thanks man!” They share a fist bump as Shiro sputters at them.

“Curt, really?“

“He’s older than my brother was when he got married,” Curtis reasons, “and Shay seems nice!”

“She’s the nicest,” Hunk says, “and I am going to marry her. Today and again on Earth with my parents next chance we get. Now, wish me luck.”

Shiro continues to gape like a fish at the news. Curtis elbows him. He gets ahold of himself. “Good luck, Hunk.”

Just as Shay said, she and Hunk take opposite positions across the cavern. The acoustics are perfect to hear them and Shay’s grandmother as the ceremony progresses.

_What was the first thing you noticed about the other?_

“Your eyes. They glowed at me from the shadows. I was afraid you were Galra until you stepped into the light.” Hunk answers

“It was your weapon. I too was scared you were Galra, but it was white and yellow and those were not Galra colors.” Shay responds

They both step forward. Curtis sips at the bowl in front of him, ignoring whatever solids are knocking against his lip as he does so. The questions continue and the answers are real and genuine, and Hunk and Shay keep stepping forward.

What relationships are you bringing with you into this one? What above all other things makes you angry? What do you need in times of stress? Why do you want to be together? When did you know you loved the other? Do you feel you have grown because of the other? What do you value the most about the other? What does your future together look like to you?

When Shay and Hunk are so close that they can no longer step forward, the announcement is made.

“Before they can officially begin their lives together, they must share their secrets. For anger is born out of hurt, but hatred is born out of fear and when there is complete honesty there is nothing to fear. These secrets are for Hunk and for Shay and the Balmera only.”

Shay’s grandmother steps away and these answers are lost to everyone present. Shay didn’t mention this part. So they stand there silently, waiting for something to happen as Shay and Hunk talk. Curtis smiles as Hunk’s hands move from Shay’s to her face, cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the universe.

He bumps Shiro’s shoulder gently with his.

Shiro bumps back, his voice dropping low so only Curtis can hear him, “I didn’t mean to be judgmental earlier. It’s just, Hunk was always the most careful one in Voltron. He’s the last one I’d ever think of rushing into an alien marriage.”

Curtis opens his mouth to tell him that he doesn’t think Hunk’s rushing at all, but then Shay breaks away from Hunk. She heads straight for him and Shiro.

“Do you happen to have your comms on you?” she asks.

They both nod their heads. Shay’s face lights up with a smile.

“Could you please video-in the other paladins and Coran? I will go collect my comms and call Hunk’s parents. They should be here for this.”

They set their bowls down on the ground and pull out their comms.

“Holy crow! Hunk! You’re getting married?!” Lance shouts through the speaker on Curtis’s device.

Pidge’s voice comes next. Then Coran’s, then finally Keith’s from Shiro’s comms. They flip the screens so they all face Hunk. Coran’s going on about what a privilege it is for them to see this sacred ceremony when Shay returns with her own comms device.

She goes straight to Hunk, who greets his parents with a watery laugh. The second the device is passed to Shay’s grandmother, Hunk throws himself at Shay for a kiss. He and Shiro share a look as cheers and wolf-whistles come from the comms in their hands.

A few moments later, after a few more shared words and another kiss, the ground rumbles under their feet. The crystals strobe. It’s the Balmerans who shout this time

“The Balmera has given it’s blessing! Shay and Hunk are officially joined!”

The ground continues to rumble, but now from the impending stampede of Shay’s family, who crush against them in a ball of too-strong limbs. Dutifully, Shiro and Curtis take the other comms from Shay’s grandmother so she can help crush them as well.

A family member shouts, “to the copulating chamber!”

“Annnnd I’m gone,” Keith’s voice says before his image is wiped from the screen.

“Yeah, me too. Congrats, Hunk!” Pidge also flees.

Lance signs-off too. Coran has to be disconnected by a flustered Shiro when he starts giving actual advice. Curtis laughs. They wish Hunk and Shay well and leave before they get dragged into the part of the ceremony happens in the copulating chamber.

Tomorrow they’ll bring the newlyweds back with them to the Atlas, tonight they have all to themselves. They’ve never had a night all to themselves. At least not one where they weren’t cooped-up in Shiro’s quarters. No onlookers here. No interruptions or duties. Just them. Curtis tucks his hand into Shiro’s and they stroll the surface of the Balmera, enjoy the last rays of the sunset and the glow of the crystals in the falling night. It’s perfect.

Curtis slides his arm across Shiro’s back as the chill settles in. As pretty as they look in their formal uniforms, they do little to guard from the drop in temperature. Shiro leans in with a happy grunt. Curtis kisses his head and steers them back to the shuttle.

They enter the cockpit and turn on systems so they have light and temperature control. Just as Shiro straightens from setting security measures for the night, Curtis moves behind him and kisses the back of his neck.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever had.”

There’s a whisper of a chuckle as Shiro turns around to face him, “really?”

“Really,” Curtis smiles, wrapping his fingers around the hands Shiro has pressed to his chest. “Flying through space, an alien wedding, you all dressed up, a romantic walk on a beautiful planet…. Only thing missing is chocolate.”

“I think there’s some in the back.”

“That decides it then.”

They kiss. Soft, unhurried. As if they have no shortage on time, and for tonight they don’t. They can kiss like this all night if they want. They can stay up, watch old movies and eat chocolate. They can even take a cruise around the Balmera if Shiro so desires. Curtis doesn’t care which or any of the options they take. He’ll have Shiro.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, lips brushing against Curtis’s in a pseudo kiss as he speaks, “for agreeing to come with me. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Of course, I did. I think our ceremonies on Earth should be more like it. Especially that part at the end. With all the secrets? Maybe that’s why Elliott and Raquel worked so well; they were too young to have many secrets.”

“Maybe.”

Shiro’s tone shifts.The muted, lost-in-thoughts-best-left-alone tone. 

“Sweetheart?”

Shiro shakes his head and goes quiet. Curtis pulls back, giving him a little space without letting go. He’ll talk when he’s ready, but the stormy look on his face doesn’t erase his worry.

“There’s secrets I can’t tell you,” Shiro finally speaks.

“I know.” His clearance level is high, but not nearly as high as Shiro’s. There’s bound to be files on files of classified information he isn’t privy to.

“No. You don’t know.”

Shiro steps away from him. Curtis sees the tremble in his jaw, the stone stiffness of his shoulders and the clenched fists.

“I’m in love with you, Curt,” he says it with such reverence, like it’s so true that it breaks him apart just to say it. His quivering voice rips a hole right in the center of Curtis’s chest.

“I am. I love you so, so much. But I haven’t told you because I was scared you’ll say it back. You’ll think you mean it, but you can’t because you don’t know everything. And if you don’t know, then what have I done? I’ve just… I’ve trapped you in a relationship with someone you don’t even know. And how can you possibly love someone who does that? What kind of person does that?”

“Shiro… Sweetheart. I don’t understand.” Curtis comes two inches from cradling Shiro’s face. His hands hover, useless. He doesn’t know how to calm him down. Like Shiro says, he has no information. He can’t deny what he doesn’t know.

“I can’t be like Hunk and Shay. I’m not brave enough to tell you. You’ll hate me. You’ll never look at me-“

A sob chokes off the last of Shiro’s words. Curtis closes the distance. Pressing his forehead to Shiro’s, his hands carding through his hair Curtis lets him cry. In his head he tries to parse out what Shiro’s saying, but there’s so little information to go off of.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers as Shiro gets his breath back.

He guides them out of the cockpit, where there’s just a little more breathing room and they can both sit. Shiro drops into a passenger seat. Curtis sits facing him and waits. He waits and waits.

“Please stop staring.”

“Please start talking,” the retort is hot and spiked, but Curtis doesn’t mean it. His patience is just wearing thin. “Sweetheart, please. I need something more than a love confession and deep dark secrets you won’t tell me.”

“I can’t.”

There’s a time for his stubbornness. Negotiating with warlords. Refusing to lose at cards. Pushing himself and his crew through the worst the universe has to offer. But now is not one of those times.

“Why? Because these secrets are triggering? Is it about Keith? The other paladins? Allura? Is it about the gladiator fights?” He can understand those reasons for keeping his silence. He’d accept any of them and happily move on.

“Just drop it, Curt.”

“NO!” The word bursts ferociously from his mouth and it startles both of them. Curtis clenches and unclenches his hands. Shiro looks like Curtis shot him. He tempers himself, drudges up the last of his patience and tries to explain why he’s pushing back.

“You’ve put me in limbo here. You’re in love with me, but I can’t reciprocate because you have these _secrets_ that I don’t know about. You won’t tell me what they are. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and not love you but be with you? What do you want from me?” Curtis stops, breathes again then says as calm as he can muster, “teacup. I call teacup.”

Their codeword. Shiro picked it. Growing up, his grandparents had special teacups that were only used during serious conversations. When he was a kid, it meant Shiro needed to go play outside so he couldn’t hear whatever they were talking about. Then as he grew into an adult, he’d drink from those cups too. It was sweet, sentimental pick.

“You can’t use teacup to get me to talk!”

“I’m using teacup so you know it’s okay to talk! No guilt. No anger. Remember? Just tell me, Shiro. Please.”

Shiro’s lips press into a thin line. Curtis frowns. He can’t swallow anymore silence. He’s starting to feel as trapped as Shiro says he is. There are no more moves for him to make and Shiro refuses to take his turn.

“I’m going to bed.” He tells him. Curtis adds, just in case Shiro thinks it’s an invitation to ignore this conversation by sweeping it under the rug with cuddles or sex: “Alone. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Curtis leaves, ignoring the bite in Shiro’s tone. The slim, standard bunk is absolutely vast when there aren’t two men of solid build trying to occupy it at the same time. Curtis rolls until his back hits the wall. He leaves a sliver of mattress empty, just in case. Shiro might come to him, might make sense of their fight, might make amends. Shiro might fill the minuscule space and stitch up the hole that bleeds in his chest.

Shiro doesn’t.


	15. Teacup

They deliver Shay and Hunk to the Atlas the next morning. The fight, fall-out, misunderstanding, whatever it was that makes it hard to be in the same room as Shiro is almost worth it to see Shay with the Atlas.

Once they board, she presses her hand to a wall, like Curtis has done so many times, and smiles wide.

“Hunk! She speaks like the Balmera!” Shay exclaims giggling and placing her other hand on the wall as well. “Hello, friend. You are so much stronger than the last time I was aboard! I am so glad.”

This interaction with a wall earns her a few perplexed looks from the other crew in the docking bay. Curtis decides then and there he will personally pitch the first person who says anything bad about Shay into a blackhole. He stands next to her and puts his hand up too. Joy coils inside of him. Like when a cat winds around your ankles or a sleepy puppy drops their head onto your arm. He has neglected the connection lately, but the Atlas seems to forgive him.

“She’s great, isn’t she?”

Shay’s smile doesn’t shrink, only softens. “Yes. I was worried about being homesick, but she has promised to help.” She rests her head against the metal for just a moment. “Thank you.”

Hunk calls for her. If they hurry, they can still see the Balmera’s solar system from the observation deck. Shay nods, bids Curtis goodbye for now and joins Hunk by the hand. It’s sweet and he looks for Shiro on instinct, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The Atlas reaches out, tries to soothe him. Curtis pats the wall once before he leaves too.

Things remain icy and unresolved between them for another three days. Maybe if he could have just waited Shiro out just a little longer it would have all gotten resolved. Though, it’s not fair that he has to wait Shiro out just to have honest discourse. He teeter-totters back and forth between these two minds sets while Shiro maintains his silence.

Working on the bridge together isn’t so hard despite the tension. They’re both competent military men. They can snap in and out of work mode as necessary. Curtis is taking orders from Captain Shirogane just like he would take them from Lieutenant McClain, or even Paladin Hunk. Personal ties and connections are tertiary here.

After he sleeps in his own bed for the second night in a row, Iverson speaks up.

“What happened between you and the captain?” Straight to the point as always.

“Nothing,” Curtis grunts as he straightens his bed. And that’s what it is. Nothing. Shiro won’t talk and Curtis won’t do anything until he does. So that’s what they’re left with: an impassable nothing.

“That better be the case. If I hear you overreached- “

“It wasn’t me!” Curtis snaps, hands slamming down on the mattress. At the stricken look on Iverson’s face, he amends it. “Sorry, sir. But I didn’t do anything wrong and if anyone’s overreaching here it’s you. I’ll see you on the bridge. Sir.”

The morning shift goes as smoothly as the others have gone. They check their positioning, the progress they’ve made to the next star system. They receive word from the Blade. Updates from their scouting ships. Everything normal, or at least expected happens. Curtis almost curses the tedium. He’s a professional sure, but a crisis would give something big to focus on. A minor one. Like all the vegetables have gone missing in the kitchen. All uniforms from the laundry have mysteriously turned blue. Anything harmless yet still alarming.

When Shiro calls the lunch break, he asks Curtis to hang behind for a moment. Curtis grimaces and concedes. He waits until everyone else leaves before he stands and addresses the captain.

“Yes, sir?”

“Iverson said you were insubordinate with him.”

Of fucking course Iverson would go and tattle. Curtis breathes once, twice before he can answer evenly. “I’ll apologize. Should I assume that I’m being written up?” It’s a silly little thing to besmirch his record with, but fine. He’s gotten away with way worse. Like. Literal treason.

“Curt,” Shiro drops all pretense, his voice soft and hurt.

He smarts at the familiarity. “Sorry, captain. We’re still in uniform and we’re on the bridge. We’ll have to save personal conversations for later. Do I have permission to leave and go apologize to Iverson, sir?”

After a long, hard stare, Shiro nods. “Permission granted.”

Curtis marches himself toward the door. Usually, he likes Shiro’s eyes on him, but the stare he feels on his shoulders burns like dry ice. To add yet another problem to his list, the door doesn’t slide open automatically. He’ll have to call maintenance. He types in his exit code, but nothing. He does it again and then one more time just in case. The door remains shut.

“What’s going on?” Shiro arrives at his side.

“I don’t know.” Curtis tries the override code. No use. “Try yours.”

Shiro does. Nothing. If even the captain’s code won’t work there’s something wrong with the system, but it could take hours to find and Curtis wants off the bridge now. He pries open the face of the pad. He cuts the wire.

“You’ll have to manually open it.”

Shiro nods and goes over to the door. Using his Altean arm he can pry it by degrees. He’s gotten it open just enough to stick a foot in before the door slams back into place. Shiro looks back at him, face awash in surprise.

It’s official. The Atlas is purposefully sealing them on the bridge.

“Atlas!” Curtis yells as he knocks his fist against the wall. “Open the door!”

He receives silence. Grumbling, he stomps over to his station.

“Can you hack into her systems?” Shiro asks, he’s just troubleshooting, Curtis knows, but it’s still a little insulting. He was lead programmer during the Atlas’ construction. Even if he didn’t write it, he was in charge of overseeing all the coding.

“Yeah just-Argh!”

A screech like giant metal nails on a giant chalkboard echoes in both of their heads. When it ends, Curtis is left with blurred vision and a skull that feels full of an angry hive of bees.

“Okay. So, no. Not if she’s going to do _that_.”

Shiro shakes it off a little faster than him and starts loading up screens on his own station. “I’ll try contacting a different part of the ship maybe they can- “

The screech comes again, lasting until they’re both on their knees. Curtis thinks he’s going to puke.

“Please. Just stop.” He rests his cheek against the floor, the cool metal soothing against his flushed skin. “Let’s… Sit here for a minute.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro gives a pained sigh from across the floor.

Curtis closes his eyes. His head throbs. It’s worse than a hangover. At least with a hangover he got to be drunk first. Dizzy, nauseous, and stuck with a boyfriend he’s hardly speaking to; everything’s just going his way today.

“Apparently Iverson and the Atlas are in agreement.”

Curtis cracks his eyes to look at him and then squeezes them tight again. Okay, so no light yet. Alright. “What are you talking about?”

“When he was telling me about your insubordination, he told me to, and I quote: “fix your shit with Hartfield.”

“Well, that would be nice.”

Curtis winces at his own tone. He braves the light again, and while he doesn’t immediately lose his equilibrium, his heart does skip a beat. Shiro, slumped against his console, looks miserable. The pain is self-inflicted, but it still reminds him of the day Allura died. Pity mixes poorly with anger.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro looks at his hands, “I still can’t. I can’t talk about it.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Curtis cracks, anger overpowering pity. He deserves more from Shiro than half-baked excuses. “I refuse to date a brick wall, Shiro.”

Shiro snaps his head up. “Are you suggesting… Do you want to break-up?”

Another screech, but it doesn’t come for Curtis this time. Shiro drops, clutching his head and screaming. It takes him too long to realize what’s happening.

“Atlas! Atlas! Stop!” Curtis clambers over to Shiro. He pulls Shiro’s head into his lap and leans over him, as if he could protect him from a sonic attack from inside his own head. His anger redirects. “Atlas if you don’t stop, I swear I will dismantle you! PIECE-BY-PUTAIN-PIECE!”

Shiro stops screaming and starts gasping for air. Curtis uncurls from around him, lets him get his breath back. A sheepishness that can only belong to the Atlas sits in the back of his head. He snarls at it. The lights dim and her presence in his mind leaves. A dog with her tail between her legs. Good.

Unconsciously, he starts running his fingers through Shiro’s sweat-dampened hair. If two of those screeches felt like a bad hangover, he can’t imagine what a third must feel like. And of course, they’re trapped with no way to contact the medical staff. His fingers shake a little. Shiro still pants for breath.

“Mon étoile,” The words are brittle from only three-days disuse but come just as naturally. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

Shiro groans and turns his face into Curtis’s thigh. His hand drops to the back of Shiro’s neck and starts rubbing gentle circles. He needs something to do.

“Am I helping or hurting?”

Shiro groans again, but Curtis can make-out the faint, “helping.”

He can breathe again. Shiro’s brain isn’t completely fried. He strokes down Shiro’s spine.

Reality starts to settle. He’s not even sure if anyone’s aware that they’re still here yet, or even if they are, if the Atlas is letting them do anything to help. If all else fails, they could do an emergency power-down. But they’re between systems right now, it’s dangerous to just float at the mercy of the void. Curtis looks at the ceiling in defeat. This isn’t how he wanted Shiro to open up to him, through coercion. But he has to now because Curtis’ not entirely sure he can take another attack like that.

“I don’t want to break up, sweetheart, but I need information and I don’t think the Atlas is going to let us go until we hash this out. Tell me something. Anything. Start small.”

He feels Shiro’s warm sigh through the fabric of his pants. “I’m so sorry for all of this, Curt.”

Tears sting his eyes. What he would have given to hear that the night he spent alone on the shuttle. How useless it is now.

“Say something else.”

“Your hands.”

“My hands?” Curtis looks down at him. Maybe he did suffer some brain damage from that last screech.

“They’re the first thing I noticed about you.” Shiro puts it into context. “When Sam was showing us around base. He named all of you who were working in the lab, I remember your fingers were just flying. I was impressed.”

Curtis smiles. He almost wants to joke about them getting space-married like Hunk, but refrains. There’s too much between them before he can joke like that. He just returns the answer with his own.

“Your hair. I thought it was a dye job at first. Like a really good dye job considering you were missing in space for like 4-5 years.” Shiro chortles against him.

Unlike Hunk and Shay, they don’t move across the room as they work their way through the answers. They stay in place, excepting when Shiro sits up finally to give Curtis’s legs a respite. Curtis rests his head Shiro’s shoulder, an arm wrapped behind him.

“The first time you wanted to kiss me?”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“It is now.” Curtis pokes Shiro’s belly. “Answer.”

“When we were supposed be stargazing in that shack at your parents’ house, but you insisted on learning Japanese instead.”

Curtis leans some more weight into him; cozy and warm against Shiro’s side. “Me too.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. We weren’t ready yet. At least I wasn’t.”

“Me neither.” Curtis thinks back to how jaded he still was from Elliott’s death, how fresh the first fight with his dad was. It wasn’t an ideal time to kiss your C.O. who you only just started developing feelings for.

They continue to answer questions that strayed from the ceremony. Harmless little things that they didn’t need to know but wanted to know all the same. Who was their first kiss? The boy down the street for Shiro. A dare at a slumber party for Curtis. Their favorite pizza toppings? Pineapple for Shiro. Italian sausage for Curtis. Their childhood pets? None for Shiro. A dog named Lucky for Curtis.

“Actually. The Atlas reminds me a lot of Lucky. Personality wise.”

“Yeah?” Shiro shifts so he lay his cheek against the top of Curtis’ head.

“Yeah. Loved everyone, very loud. She hated it when someone split up from the rest of the family. Like if we were watching a movie and one of us got up for whatever reason she’d go follow them and herd them back.”

“That’s cute.”

“For a dog. Not a spaceship.”

“Agreed.”

Curtis asks the next big question. It’s not from the ceremony, but he needs this answer. “When did you know you loved me?”

“Any chance we can skip this one?”

“Nope.” Curtis faces up and catches Shiro’s chin so he can’t look away. “Tell me. When did you know?”

Shiro sighs. Worry swirls in Curtis’ gut. He’ll go silent again. He’d rather Shiro shout, or sing, or even use interpretive dance. Anything. Just not silence.

“Remember when I fell asleep during that meeting with the Rarilian delegation and you sold them on the idea that it was actually a compliment? Then. That’s when I knew.”

That was months ago. “That long?”

Sheepish, Shiro casts his eyes down. “I didn’t want to tell you until I told you everything else. I thought I would have by now. Things kept going so well and I didn’t want to ruin it. I just wanted- “

Curtis cuts him off with a kiss. At first confliction rages in him. It’s not good to cut off a man when you’ve been begging him to talk. It’s not good to kiss the boyfriend you’re fighting with. Mixed signals and all that.

But then Shiro softens under him. A hand flits over the spot where under layers of uniform his scar lays. Curtis smiles against Shiro’s mouth and pulls him closer. After conditioning himself so thoroughly, Shiro reflexively touches his scar whenever they’re alone. Whenever he’s happy. Days of seething hurt sit on the backburner for now. He’s missed him. His kind, stubborn, brilliant étoile.

“I don’t care what happened,” he decides aloud against Shiro’s lips. “I love you.”

Shiro’s mouth trembles. “You won’t when you know what I’ve been keeping for you.”

Curtis silences him with another kiss. This one to his nose, and two more to his forehead. “Just. Fucking trust me.”

Shiro tucks himself against Curtis’ chest. He wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and holds him there. He won’t promise to love whoever Shiro used to be or whatever it was he did, but he can love the man has in his arms now, the man that was formed by whatever these secrets are.

A loud, shuddering sigh escapes Shiro. The heat of it bleeds through his shirt. “I do. I trust you.”

Then, Shiro tells him a story. A story about a recently escaped war prisoner turned paladin. He’s thrust into an intergalactic conflict with only four teenagers and two friendly but still strange aliens as his allies. After a close call with a bomb and nearly losing one of his new teammates, they capture a Galra commander by the name of Sendak. When Sendak is put into stasis and they try to extract information about the empire only for Sendak to corrupt the ship’s systems.

“He got into my head,” Shiro explains, voice low with disappointment in himself. “He got me thinking of my time in the arena. I was so angry that I ejected his pod into space. I thought he’d die; the pod wouldn’t be able to keep him in stasis, or it’d crash. Either way: he was supposed to die. He wasn’t supposed to…”

As he trails off Curtis puts two and two together. He gets it now. His failure to kill Sendak properly the first time means Sendak had the opportunity to attack Earth.

Elliott springs to mind. How Raquel couldn’t get out of bed for weeks on end. Anissa still can’t talk to him or anyone else in the family about what happened at the children’s camp. Then his mind switches to his relatives in Paris. The list he and his mother drew up of who they knew was in Paris that first day of the attack, how eventually each name was crossed-off, the list torn up in his mother’s shaking hands. Other things filter through too: his father’s limp, the other garrison bases, the labor camps, the long dark nights spent wondering if the last holdout could survive until Voltron arrived.

Curtis shifts Shiro in his arms. He hoists him up so his head rests against his shoulder. Bowing his head, he kisses Shiro’s temple. A tortured soldier far from home is bound to make mistakes with unforeseen consequences. Curtis can forgive him, because the man he is now wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Merde, the man he is now fought Sendak on the bow of a ship as it fell through Earth’s atmosphere just to be certain he did die.

“Sendak’s dead now. Earth’s safe.” He presses another kiss to his temple as Shiro shudders in relief.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Shiro pulls back, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“That, and I love you.”

He kisses away the tear tracks on his face. They taste like bitter guilt. Guilt he doesn’t need to feel. Shiro angles for a real kiss, a shy tentative thing and Curtis gives it to him. Before he can prolong it into something decidedly less shy Shiro moves away.

“There’s more.”

“Okay.”

He settles in again, Shiro tucked in against his neck. This story is far, far stranger than the first. Same protagonist, but more disturbing.

“You died?” he repeats

Shiro’s nose nearly tickles as he nods his head. “I died.”

It’s like someone threw darts at a board of fantasy sci-fi show tropes. The paladin dies, his soul contained within the sentience of his ship. A clone takes his place. An _evil_ clone. The evil clone sabotages the group. The clone dies after a fight in a cloning facility. The paladin’s soul is transferred into the clone’s body by a magical space princess.

This story is harder to grasp than the first.

“So, this body…?” Curtis asks, looking down the line of Shiro’s back. He refuses to ease his grip on him, lest Shiro think he’s repulsed. Still, he almost wishes he could take a better look at him, look for signs that this is a clone’s body. Not that he’d know what the signs were if there were such things.

“Isn’t my original body.”

“Huh.”

Shiro leans away, or at least tries to. Curtis crushes him back against his torso with a very stern, “Excusez-moi, but I’m cuddling my boyfriend right now. You’re going to have act on your insecurities later.”

“You’re not, you know, grossed out?”

Curtis shakes his head. “I have questions. A lot of them and you’re going to answer them, but no. You’re still a hot piece of ass.”

Shiro doesn’t laugh. “You don’t… You don’t think of me any differently?”

Curtis brings him all the way into his lap and squeezes tight. He didn’t know Shiro before the war. It’s a blessing he didn’t. He doesn’t have to go through the mental gauntlet of trying to find nonexistent differences.

Curtis knocks his nose against Shiro’s. “You might have already forgotten, but I love you. As you are. Clone body and weird zombie soul and all.”

Shiro laughs then. It turns to hiccups. Then to crying. Then to wholehearted blubbering against Curtis’s chest. It’s the good kind of tears, the kind that comes after unburdening oneself. The kind signaling everything will okay.

“Anything else, sweetheart?”

Shiro shoots up for a saltwater kiss. “No. That’s it. You’re so perfect.”

Curtis winces at the word perfect. He’s done nothing more than stand by his word. He loves him and love means accepting a past you can’t change. If he wanted to make it fair he would…

“Okay. It’s my turn.”

“Your turn?”

Curtis worries his bottom lip. “Promise you’ll still date me after I tell you?”

Shiro leans back, hands on his shoulders. “I promise.”

“And you have to promise not to tell the paladins. Or Coran.”

Shiro frowns. Curtis doesn’t think he’s ever been asked to keep something from them, nothing serious anyway. Afterall, the paladins were closer than family.

“Alright. I won’t tell them.”

His nerves thrum. The only person alive who knows this is Veronica and even she only keeps it secret because he has equally damning information about her. He gives himself to the count of three to blurt it out. 1… 2… 3.

“I love the K-pop band PBB.”

Shiro’s eyes go wide before he bursts into laughter, even going as far as to smack the paneled floor. Curtis’s soul makes a hasty escape from his body. When Shiro realizes that Curtis isn’t laughing with him, he stops.

“Oh. You were serious,” Shiro clears his throat. “So, you. Um… what does PBB stand for?”

Curtis looks away. “Phoenix Blood Brotherhood.”

Shiro covers his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing again. When he regains himself, his hands move just enough for him to get the question out, his voice unnaturally high, “who’s your favorite member?”

“Chin-Mae.”

“Oh?”

“He’s honest and hardworking, okay?”

Shiro giggles behind his hands. Curtis stands, letting Shiro tumble backwards as he continues to laugh at him.

“Atlas! Can we go now?!”

The door slides right open. Of course it does. Shaking his head, he hauls Shiro to his feet. Iverson and the rest of the bridge crew meet them at the door.

“Sorry, Captain! We weren’t allowed past the elevator up until a minute ago. What happened?”

He looks to Shiro. The tips of his ears are turning pink. He’s done enough confessing today. No need to tell his crew that his ship decided to parent-trap him.

“Some malfunction with the door switches leading up to the bridge. We could not get through the door either. We found the root of the problem and fixed it.” Curtis only half-lies and makes a mental note to scrub the bridge footage for today before anyone thinks to doublecheck their story. What’s a little more treason?

“The door switch here did get damaged. Can you call maintenance and have them replace it before end of day?” Shiro asks Iverson.

“Aye, sir.” Iverson says. His eyes shifts in suspicion over them. “We’ll take the bridge if you’d like to grab lunch, Captain.”

“Thank you. Sergeant?” Shiro looks back at him, eyes shining for all the right reasons now.

Curtis smiles back and they leave. Together.


	16. Veronica 3

Grotesque, abominable, torturous, uncouth ringing wakes him up from a deep sleep. A deep sleep he earned dammit. They processed 239 refugees yesterday. 239 refugees whose native language wasn’t recognized by universal translator programs. Meaning the handful of crew members like himself who spoke Galra had to conduct processing interviews through the handful of refugees who spoke a very specific and hard to recognize dialect of Galra. 239 interviews. 1 day. He’s earned a full night’s sleep.

The ringing continues. Curtis nuzzles his face against Shiro’s shoulder, asking in a whine for him to stop the wretched evil of the ringing comms. His face falls to the pillow as a Shiro moves to answer it.

“Yours not mine,” Shiro groans, just as crabby.

He drops Curtis’s tablet over his shoulder, slapping right across Curtis’s cheek before falling somewhere behind him. Grumbling curses at Shiro, he grabs blindly behind him before he finds it.

“Hello?”

“Hola, Francito.”

Curtis sits straight up, jostling Shiro and nearly dropping his tablet in the process. The voice is weak, rough around the edges, but there’s no mistaking it. Not in a million lifetimes can he mistake it.

“Nica?!”

“Miss me?”

Dieu, he has. They talk daily, sometimes hourly to the amusement and chagrin of his boyfriend. More than once Curtis has stopped them mid-conversation to answer the text chime assigned to Veronica. And only once during sex. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same as hearing her voice. A voice he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again.

“Only a little,” he teases. “When did you get your voice back?”

“A few days ago. I had to rest it all day today. Therapist says I can’t use it too much though. So, this call is going to be really short. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad to hear you at all.”

They talk for only a minute more. He clings to every syllable. But he hears the struggle to maintain an even tenor in this tiny amount of time. Her voice is barely more than an exhale when she tells him goodbye.

“Abrazos.”

“Go rest.”

He flops back. Shiro grunts at him but threads his arms around him regardless. Giddy, Curtis rolls over, pressing hard and quick kisses to Shiro’s face. He laughs under him, pushing him away and complaining about wanting to go back to sleep.

“Can’t sleep now.” Curtis grins at him, perching his chin against Shiro’s shoulder bracket. “Nica has her voice back.”

“So I hear.” Shiro smiles back, genuine and well-wishing.

Their fingers meet and lace over Shiro’s stomach. Curtis closes his eyes, but not an ounce of his previous exhaustion remains. Nica’s voice returning means so much more than just her ability to speak. She has control again. Not everything was stolen from her. She’s on her way back to returning to her post. Things can go back to the way they should be.

“I never did thank you.” Curtis peers at Shiro’s face, watching as he slowly opens sleepy eyes. “For trusting me. For letting me go get her. Even when I threatened mutiny.”

“Want to know a secret?”

“Of course.”

“It was the Atlas who convinced me.”

“She did?”

Shiro hums and closes his eyes again, “she wasn’t going to let anything happen to you again. I could feel it. She would come if you called her.”

Curtis turns and presses his palm against the wall. A familiar happy purr greets him. He leans into the connection, going as far as putting his forehead against the wall like he’s seen Shay do. The Atlas trills.

He pours his gratitude into the connection; telling her without words that he appreciates all she does. From providing him shelter in the amoral cruelty of the void to helping him save Veronica. More friend than ship, he does love her just as much as he loves anyone else in his life.

Pulling his head back, he asks Shiro, “is this what being a paladin is like?”

Shiro curls closer to him, face finding refuge against the back of his neck. “Pretty close. Want to pilot her?”

“Ha. No.”

The Atlas shares the sentiment, white hot revulsion running through his fingers. Their relationship is different from the relationship she has with Shiro. Shiro is her captain. Curtis is just her favorite.

He falls back to sleep, one hand knitted with Shiro’s, the other against the wall.

* * *

“Alright!” Shiro calls everyone in the mess hall to attention. Commanding respect even in his pajamas. “The rules are simple: You drop your pillow or get knocked down even to a knee, you’re out. Hunk and Shay are referees. If they say you’re out: you’re out. No arguing with the refs. No headshots. No pulling down anyone’s pants. Last one standing wins.”

“What’s the prize?” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Bragging rights and! The pick of tonight’s movie.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. Usually it’s Iverson who picks it; despite his gruff exterior, he always seems to know the mood of the crew at large. His picks have been good, but there has been a lot of lobbying. Curtis hears a conspiracy begin behind him. Take out Kinkade first. Sure, he has great taste in movies, but they’re hardly the feel-good fare the crew needs on a night off.

Curtis won’t gun for Kinkade outright, but if it looks like he’ll win…

“Woah, woah, woah! What is this?”

All eyes turn to the two figures standing at the mouth of the mess hall. One in civilian clothes, the other in Paladin armor.

“I’m out!” Curtis lobs his pillow to the side and bounds over to squeeze the life out of Veronica. “What are you doing here? You weren’t due for another movement!”

“Uf! I can go back if you want.”

He hugs her tighter in rejection of such a horrible idea. There is gravel in her voice which may never go away, but he can’t care. She’s back.

Eventually he loosens his grip to just an arm over her shoulder, so they can watch the pillow battle. Hunk insisted on the word battle. A fight is what you have with your friends, a battle is what you have with your enemies. And with such a high prize, there are no friends left here.

Kinkade is taken down almost immediately. Three people are disqualified for illegal headshots against him. One of them is Rizavi, who shouts that it was worth it. Curtis has to agree.

His eyes trail over to Shiro, who out of fairness to everyone else only uses his human arm, but that arm still ripples with pure muscle. He takes out an engineer by hitting the back of their knees. Those muscles flex again as he helps them up.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Francito,” Veronica follows his line of sight.

“I got lucky with this one,” he says, watching as a group of engineers gang-up on his boyfriend to avenge their fallen comrade. There’s no way he’s not letting them get the drop on him. He survived a year in a gladiator pit. A few eggheads with pillows can never stand a chance.

Curtis loves that he goes down laughing.

He smiles as Shiro gets back up and approaches them. Lance gets a hug, then Veronica breaks from his side to get hers.

“I’m back to steal your man.”

“He wasn’t always yours?” Shiro grins. “I figured he was just on loan.”

“I’m glad you understand the situation.”

“Oh. No. Stop,” Curtis rolls his eyes, letting the sarcasm seep into his words. “I would hate to see you fight over me.”

Veronica walks around behind him. “Never mind, you can have him,” she gives him a good shove towards Shiro, who, of course, catches him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he grins and sneaks a kiss even in full view of the crew. There’s a mixture of coos and fake retching from the staff who’ve already gotten out. Curtis even hears someone call for them to get a room. He steals one more peck before they resume a more professional stance.

The pillow battle doesn’t last much longer. Lieutenant Hedrick wins it, mostly by using her smaller stature to evade others and attacking when the rest are too worn out. She walks over to Shiro to claim her prize.

“There’s blood on your shirt,” he points out.

Mei looks down. “Oh, don’t worry, sir. It’s not mine.”

While Curtis blinks owlishly at the drawing of blood during a glorified pillow fight, Shiro only seems amused.

“Alright. What’s the movie?”

“Mulan, sir.”

“Excellent choice,” Shiro nods then faces everyone else, “alright! Get comfortable!”

Everyone moves. Blankets and extra pillows are procured. Hunk and the kitchen crew pass out snacks. People cozy up with friends, lovers. Curtis sets himself up so one hand entangles with Shiro’s and the other shoulder acts as a head rest for Veronica. The lights dim and once Kinkade finds a copy of the movie in his extensive collection he projects it against the one wall painted entirely white just for the purpose of movie night.

Mulan turns out to be the perfect choice. Most of the crew knows it and every song reverberates off the walls as the crew belts them. Shiro sings off-key, ruining his perfect golden-boy status, but burrowing himself further in Curtis’s affections. Veronica only hums, her feet bouncing along with the music. She has a lovely singing voice. Pitchy at times, but sweet and low, maybe he will hear it a different time when she won’t have to strain newly healed muscles to hear herself over the crowd. Lance and Hunk, ever the cheeseballs make a show of each song; serenading Shay in particular during A Girl Worth Fighting For.

When the movie ends, everyone packs and splits up. Lance declares the need for a Paladin-Only sleepover, which works for Curtis. He and Veronica could use a sleepover of their own.

“I’ll see you at the custody hearing?” Shiro jokes as he kisses his cheek goodnight.

“I think you have a solid case for every other weekend and holidays.”

They go back to his bunk room. Iverson has taken the night shift on the bridge, so they have the space to themselves. Veronica curls herself around the pillow on his bunk with zero hesitation.

“Lance pushed to get us here early and… Mmm, he’s exhausting when he’s excited.”

“Wanna just sleep then?”

“No!” Veronica tugs him down with her. “Dime un cuentito.”

“¿Sobre qué?” he chuckles as Veronica rolls over top of him, claiming him as a pillow. He searches his brain for a suitable story, she knows most if not all of them.

“La boda de Hunk. A mí me sorprendió.”

He tells her how beautiful Hunk’s wedding was, how sweet and how different. Conversation fades in and out afterwards. It’s mostly just being close after missing each other so much. She talks about the family, her niece and nephew. Lance’s progress from being a sad husk of himself to a sprouting seedling, finding himself again in new soil. There’s even talk of him teaching at the flight school in Havana during his next off-season.

That leads them to reminiscing on the late nights they spent there during breaks from school. The one time he managed be between projects and she was also on leave from the Garrison and they met in downtown Havana. They drank endless mojitos, danced with attractive strangers they had no intention of going home with, and Veronica begged him to join her back in his hometown.

“Francito. No, no entiendes. Esto proyecto- You have to do it. You haaaaaave to.”

When they were more sober, she gave him Commander Holt’s number. Even now, Curtis isn’t sure what got him to call. Maybe it was pity. Veronica’s baby brother was still missing, presumed dead. She probably felt lonely in the place where he was lost. Maybe it was his own loneliness. He lived well in Paris. He had plenty of cousins and connections, but he worked. He traveled. A lot. Maybe part of him just missed home. The stillness of mesas and the consistent sun.

Talking to Commander Holt only revealed a fragment of the project details. The rest was hidden behind clearance protocol. It was still enough. His experience in translation programs and his other security work with various world governments made him a good fit. Enticed he changed his entire life. He sublet his apartment to his cousin and her new not-a-boyfriend. He stole a spot in Elliott’s guest bedroom for a month. Against all of his teenaged promises, he enlisted. Then, one day Commander Holt asked him to commit just a little treason.

Now that he thinks on it, he’s committed treason a lot. All because of one drunk conversation in a dim, sweaty club in Havana.

“Francito?”

“Hmm?” Curtis opens eyes he didn’t realize had closed.

“We need to talk about something.”

He raises himself on his elbow, alert now. “What about?”

Veronica wrings her hands together atop her stomach. She looks everywhere but him when she announces she will not be returning to her post aboard the Atlas.

“ _What?_ ”

“I was medically discharged from service.”

A dozen million questions filter through his brain, but only one comes out of his mouth, “you’re only telling me this _now_?”

She shrugs, but still refuses to meet his eyes, “I-You were so excited about me coming back. I didn’t know how to tell you that I wasn’t.”

“Shiro can get you reinstated.” Curtis says, already problem solving, already half-way to the door. “The Garrison can’t deny him anything. C’mon, I’m sure he’s not asleep yet, we can go-“

“I don’t want to be reinstated!”

He stops in his tracks. Looking back at her helplessly, his brain grinds to a halt too. If there’s no problem, there’s nothing for him to solve.

“Why are you out here then?”

“To see you. Duh.”

“And after?”

“Lance is dropping me off on Daibazaal on his way to Altea.”

And they fight. They rarely do, but what their fights lack in frequency they more than make up in cruelty. The drawback of having someone who knows what makes you tick is they know exactly how to dismantle you.

“You’re moving across the universe for a girl who can’t even admit she’s in love with you? No girls on Earth who are willing to leave you behind and pretend it’s not cowardice?”

“Well, not everyone gets a spaceship to play couple’s therapist when their boyfriend acts like a child.”

And round and round they go; drawing a little more blood each time. They can’t stop. Not until someone gets hurt enough to walk away. They’ll lick their wounds and come back together. They’ll understand where the animosity came from, hate themselves for what they said and make-up. But still, someone needs to walk away first. Someone has to make the fatal hit.

“You worked your entire life to be a part of the Garrison! I didn’t save your life so you could throw it away!”

“No, you saved me because I’m the only one who tolerates your special brand of self-sacrificial crybaby bullshit! And fuck you! Fuck you for thinking just because you saved my life you get to decide what I do with it!”

“And what excellent decisions you’re making! You’d rather spend your time with a girl who spoke to your imposter the _entire time_ and didn’t realize it wasn’t you! I knew in less than a minute, but hey, go ahead. She obviously needs to get to know you better.”

Veronica freezes. And it looks like they’ll be entering the second stage of their fighting, but she doesn’t move. The anger slides away into something worse.

“What do you mean Acxa talked to the imposter?”

Merde alors. He forgot. He was supposed to keep that a secret. Acxa had practically _begged_ him. He back pedals. It doesn’t work. Veronica shoves at his chest.

“What do you mean: _she didn’t know it wasn’t me?_ ”

“She was tricked,” Curtis defends Acxa, the least he can do after fucking up so royally. “Apparently they- They convinced her it was you by… confessing how you felt about her. It was a distraction tactic. Don’t blame her. It’s not her fault.”

Veronica bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She fails.

“No. No it’s not. Afterall, I told them everything. Even about her. Things she shared only with me. I gave them everything they needed to manipulate her. Just like Lotor.”

Curtis has no idea how the former emperor of the Galra empire figures into it, but Veronica hides her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, close to hyperventilating. He pulls her close. She fights him off.

“Give me your comms.”

“What, why?”

“I need to call her!” Veronica pats down his pants in search of them, evading his arms. When she doesn’t find them she scrambles over to his bunk, tearing at the covers as if he’d keep it there. “I have to apologize. It’s all my fault.”

“Nica, no. None of it is your-“

“¡Cállate! ¡Dame tu celular, Francito!” Her voice runs desperately high in pitch.

Curtis grabs her again, holding her tight against his chest even as she pounds at him. Cursing him and his mother and grandmother, even his great-grandmother in Spanish. Then she just cries, blaming herself on repeat. He refutes her every time, but she probably doesn’t hear it.

He rakes his hand through her hair and takes big, slow breaths that puff out his chest. He does this until her breathing matches his. Anxiety attacks look different on Veronica than Shiro, but now he’s a veteran in dealing with them regardless of who. She stops trying to escape, her body going limp as they just stand and breathe.

“Escuchame, can you do that? Listen to me for just a second?”

She whimpers out a yes.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing to do with your abduction is your fault. I know, Acxa knows you’d never do anything to betray her trust. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Veronica shudders, “she must… She has to be so hurt.”

Curtis can’t speak to how Acxa feels. Already he has stepped too far into a conversation he was never meant to have. He steers Veronica to bed, convincing her that she can call Acxa after she gets some sleep. He lets himself be used as a pillow again. At least he can’t mess this up.

In the morning, he and Veronica are slow to wake and get out of bed. Normally he and Shiro would already be awake already. They have two alarms. The “snuggle alarm” that Curtis sets 15 minutes before the regular, mean alarm that forces them out of bed. When he wakes up in surprise that Shiro isn’t with him, guilt threads through him. What a hypocrite he is. Giving Veronica shit for doing what she can to be with Acxa when he can fully expect to have Shiro with him every morning.

He tells her that when she wakes up. That he knows he’s a hypocrite. That he started the whole thing out of petty jealousy. That he’s really, really sorry.

She forgives him because that’s what they do. They fight, cry, apologize, and get back to life a little wiser for it. She owns-up to not telling him her plans sooner, even explaining she asked Shiro to keep it from him too. Which hits him like a freight train, of course the captain of the Atlas would know that one of his lieutenants was given a medical discharge. She only thought it would be better coming from her and not letting Shiro get in the middle of it. He accepts her apology, and thanks her for her forethought.

When Iverson arrives from his shift, they go get their last breakfast together on the Atlas. Veronica tells him about the work she’ll do for the Blade. No fieldwork, just analytical support from Daibazaal. Curtis offers to teach her the Galra he knows. Veronica tells him that Acxa has already started tutoring her, but she’ll be glad for the practice.

Shiro swings by, assigns him the task of running diagnostics on the Red Lion for the day. Any of the junior analysts could do it, and it wouldn’t take all day. He’s practically giving him the day off. Veronica casts him a knowing look. The word favoritism bounces on her lips. He bounces the heel of his boot into her leg before they leave to run those diagnostics.

The next day the Red Lion speeds away. Out-of-sight in mere tics. His heart aches, but not nearly as much as when he had to leave her on Earth.


	17. Allura Day

His life carries on as it did before Veronica arrived and then disappeared again. When they talk now it’s not about her therapies or her family. It’s about Daibazaal. The weird things she eats, the reluctant friends she makes among her new neighbors and coworkers. She has always been good at making friends. Even Galra who are highly suspicious of anyone claiming to not begrudge them their collective past.

As much as he misses her and as much as he wishes that she was working on the Atlas again, it was the right call. Starting over on her own terms works wonders for her. She shines with a vitality that even a weak comm connection can’t obscure. A vitality he can’t remember her having since before Lance’s disappearance.

That, and she and Acxa finally figured their shit out. Occasionally Acxa appears on the feed; in the background or interrupting with a question. She does _not_ talk to Curtis.

“She’ll forgive you. Really. She’s just slow to warm.”

Curtis tells Veronica that he hopes so. Internally he hopes that Acxa’s forgiveness doesn’t require a pound of flesh.

In Veronica’s absence, his new aboard besties become Shay and Mei. It takes two of them to fill the void of one Veronica McClain, each fulfilling different friendship niches.

He and Shay become close because well, they have a lot in common. They both love learning other cultural customs. Human, Balmera, Galra, whatever. They have succeeded in boring both Hunk and Shiro into light dozes during their discussions. They have both suffered Galra occupation. Granted, Shay outranks him by time spent. But it is not a competition. They both have parents who have no personal understanding as to why they would want to leave their home planet. Granted, Curtis outranks her for callousness shown. But it is not a competition.

And then, there’s a certain shared experience for those who get emotionally involved with Voltron paladins. They trade nightmare remedies. They exchange knowing smiles. They provide back-up as needed.

Hunk starts losing sleep because he’s in the kitchen stress-baking over an issue that Shay can’t convince him isn’t an issue? Easy. Curtis installs a program that locks the kitchen down two vargas after the dinner service finishes. Shiro starts to over-schedule himself and Curtis can’t seem to get him to sit down long enough to eat a real meal? Simple. Shay just so happens to have a few recipes that she’s trying out and needs Shiro to test-taste them for her.

They work well together.

He and Mei on the other hand, enjoy not working together. She’s a fair analyst and they get along just fine professionally, but that’s not why they’re friends. They both like boardgames: namely chess. Well, they play something that’s chess-esque.

They commit Romeo and Juliet inspired double suicide pacts by their queens, a pawn rebellion, oh and the one time they convince Shiro to have the crew play life-size chess. In that team building exercise (Shiro’s words, not his. He and Mei were in it purely for the sake of getting their coworkers to act like idiots.) the pieces could only be taken if the person laughed.

Right now, Mei has presented him with a Pokémon themed game and he’s losing badly. In order to take a piece, the advancing piece must have the type advantage. Curtis doesn’t know shit about Pokémon type advantages. He doesn’t know shit about Pokémon. But everything that Mei has said so far makes sense. Fire beats grass. Water beats fire. Electricity beats Water.

“Ooh, Pokémon,” Shiro drops into the seat next to his, smelling of the soap found in the gym showers. His Altean hand plucks a yellow duck pawn that Curtis had to sacrifice four turns ago. “Are these handcarved?”

“I like to whittle,” Mei shrugs as she moves a piece that looks like an angry, blue, buff frog that acts as a rook to hover over his skull-capped baby dinosaur pawn. “Water beats ground.”

“I thought water beat fire!” Curtis slumps in confusion.

“Water beats a lot of stuff,” Shiro tells him, replacing the duck as Mei puts her frog down and takes the last of his pawns.

“Help me win if you know so much.”

“Can’t.”

“Sweetheart, really I’m hopeless without you-“

“It’s not that,” Shiro taps the top of Mei’s king: a spiky, purple, fat guy. Gangler, if Curtis remembers right. “Her king’s a ghost type and none of your other pieces are good against that. Especially your king. It’s psychic.”

Curtis stares at his king piece. A cute, pink baby something perched in the air by its long tail. He’s liked it up to this point. He shoots May a dirty look as he knocks it down.

“So, can I play?” Shiro asks, looking hopeful.

They switch seats and Curtis watches in rapt attention, trying to remember which piece is which type. Shiro and Mei call them out so quickly though, he can’t remember which is which. And he becomes confused when they actually start calling them by name and start debating dual types and mega evolutions. Whatever the _hell_ that is.

Shiro loses too, but he at least puts up a better fight. They rearrange the board and Curtis starts to zone out when they begin talking about the merits of different starter Pokémon. When Shiro finally does win he says that he’s more than earned a gym badge.

“A gym badge?” Curtis asks astounded by the sheer amount of terminology that makes no fucking sense.

Mei lights up at the idea though. “Oh! I never thought about making those. Which one do you want?”

“The Rainbow Badge, obviously.”

Shiro gives him a sly look and Curtis laughs. He’s always down for a good gay joke.

* * *

Things ramp up work wise. All the systems that they’ve stabilized are now finally at a point where they can actually come to diplomatic terms with one another. The Atlas ferries various diplomats from place to place as various agreements are made and then subsequentially broken.

Curtis hardly sees Shiro. Even on the bridge he makes sparse appearances, the Atlas perfectly capable of flying under Iverson’s direction now that they weren’t in active combat. All those agreements, broken or otherwise only happen with Shiro present, as he’s the mutually trusted party between all the different systems. So, the only time Curtis can reliably see him is in bed. Even then it’s late and then terribly early.

It’s only the night before a large treaty signing that Shiro arrives in their room and Curtis isn’t already asleep. It’s also the night before the anniversary of Allura’s death, so the mood is far from amorous. Curtis contents himself with the fact that they’re alone and for once in what feels like a millennia they aren’t talking about work.

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” Shiro asks, talking about the trip to Altea he’ll be taking immediately after negotiations tomorrow. “Coran says there’s plenty of room.”

Curtis hums, kisses his cheek, and then sits down on the bed. He watches Shiro pack at the desk. He won’t have the time tomorrow, he’s overscheduled himself again. This time it’s on purpose. No chance to think about Allura if there’s no chance to think at all.

“I think it’ll be better if it’s just the paladins and Coran. You guys could use the time together.”

Shiro gives a noise of assent as he searches for something in the drawer, concealing it in his fist before taking a seat next to Curtis. “Before I forget, I have something for you.”

He drops something small and hard into his hand. Curtis rolls it around between his fingers. It’s one of Mei’s carved chess pieces. Except this one he hasn’t seen before. It’s a cute little thing. Pink with brown tipped ears, a curled tail, and little wings. He leans into the arm Shiro drapes over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“A Clefairy.”

Curtis turns his head, laughing on an exhale, “care to explain what that is? Or why you’re giving me one?”

Shiro does. He kisses him long and slow first, but he does explain. Clefairy are apparently friendly, peaceful, shy Pokémon. Smart enough to build a spaceship. Exceedingly rare, but very popular. And they remind him of Curtis.

He asked Mei to make one.

“Well,” Curtis turns it over in his hand again, his heart swelling at the sweet, dorky gesture. Laughing again when he realizes, “I _am_ a fairy.”

“Do you like it?” Shiro asks, sounding far too unsure of himself.

“I love it.” Curtis stands, cradling it as he walks it over to the desk. He places it next to the seal of approval Anissa made. When he comes back to bed, he frames Shiro’s face in his hands, smiling into soft eyes. “I love _you_.”

Shiro reaches up, catches him by the back of his neck and brings him down onto the mattress with him.

* * *

The negotiations go off without a hitch, which means they have a singular spare moment before the Black lion arrives to give a worm-hole jump to Altea for Hunk and Shiro. Shiro tugs him close, dotting his cheek with a kiss.

“Last chance to join us.”

“Shay’s not going and she’s _married_ to a paladin.”

Shiro grumbles under his breath. Curtis fits his hand along Shiro’s jaw and rests his forehead on top of his.

“If you need me, I’ll commandeer a shuttle and be there before you know it.”

“Do you even know how to pilot one of the shuttles?”

Curtis blinks. Huh. He hadn’t thought that far. “Guess I’ll have to commandeer a pilot for my commandeered shuttle. But I’ll get there. If you need me. Promise.”

Shiro seems to like that answer better. At least he grumbles less as he pulls away. Down the hall, the door leading to the Black Lion’s hangar opens, but it’s not Keith who walks through it first.

“Ooooooooh, Francito!” Veronica calls, her smile impish as she traipses down the hall to reach him. Acxa and then finally Keith follow her.

“Nica!” His surprised laugh echoes off the walls as she throws herself into him. She proceeds to squeeze the life out of him.

Eventually she moves away to greet Hunk, Shiro, and Shay. Acxa and Keith have since caught-up.

“Hey Keith. Hey Ac-shaa!”

Acxa clocks him. He stumbles, head turned, hand reaching out for Shiro for stability. Two seconds after he rights himself, pain blooms like a corpse flower across his cheek. Shiro starts yelling and he’s glad he has a hand on him. The last thing he needs is for his boyfriend to fight Veronica’s girlfriend. But it’s not Shiro who gets physical. It’s Shay.

She lifts Acxa up by the armpits. Holding her aloft like that one scene from last month’s movie but with none of the reverence. Acxa, for all her skill and tenacity cannot break out of Shay’s grip. After a swift kick that would have knocked anyone else out fails, she wriggles helplessly.

“Apologize!” Shay demands. “Curtis did not deserve that!”

“I did! I did deserve it! Put her down.”

It takes Hunk, Veronica, and him to convince her to drop Acxa. Shiro’s too busy trying to get a better look at the blossoming bruise on his cheek. While Keith does nothing to help his subordinate. If anything, he actually looks amused to see Acxa abused so.

As Veronica catches her, she chides, “when you said you were going to punch him, I thought you were joking.”

“When have I ever joked?”

“First time for everything,” Veronica glares at her before turning her gaze over to Shiro. “He alright, captain?”

“I’m fine!” Curtis pushes Shiro’s fussing fingers away. He was more surprised than hurt, and he knows that Acxa must have held back. He’d be on the ground otherwise.

He meets Acxa’s eyes. _We’re even now,_ they tell him, then they narrow. _Don’t do it again._

He won’t. He hardly meant to do it the first time.

That drama settled; the paladins go on their way to Altea. Shiro spares him another concerned glance, but Curtis pushes him toward the Yellow Lion’s hangar with a smile, trying not to grimace from the effect smiling has on his cheek.

They leave to go have a reunion dinner of their own. Shay eventually stops looking at Acxa in suspicion once they hit the topic of life on Daibazaal. Curtis has already heard a lot from Veronica, but Shay has endless questions.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in the homeworld of your oppressors,” Acxa comments on Shay’s curiosity, possibly impressed if Curtis judges her tone correctly.

“Balmerans believe that grudges are something to be left behind in childhood.”

Curtis chokes on his water. That is the _meanest_ thing he’s ever heard Shay say. It’d make his his half-southern American heart proud if she actually meant it that way. He coughs, hacking into his elbow as his throat burns. Veronica pats his back. Regaining his breath, he catches Shay’s eyes. She smiles and returns to asking Acxa about Daibazaal’s weather patterns.

Oh. Merde alors. _She did._ If he wasn’t absolutely in love with Shiro and if Shay wasn’t married…

Curtis keeps an ear out for any slight-of-hand-remarks from Shay, almost disbelieving he heard one in the first place. He doesn’t to his disappointment. It’s the only thing disappointing about the rest of the evening though. With a group this large they can play Uno and poker. Which they do, until they’re trading yawns.

When he slides into bed that night, it’s strange, but nice being able to stretch out. He falls asleep quick and easy. Unlike most nights where he’s stuck in a quasi-sleep until Shiro slides in next to him. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.

The Atlas prods at him hard, fast, panicked. He throws his pants on and his arms through his jacket and is out the door before he realizes that he’s even awake. He sprints to the bridge. The Atlas spurring him on. The night shift, consisting only of Mei and Iverson are already in high action.

“What’s going on?” Curtis goes over to his station, the Atlas already lighting up his screens as he finishes the last of the buttons on his jacket.

“Blue Lion escaped her hangar. It’s beyond our range now; could use your help in tracking it.”

 _What?_ He sets to work. Iverson pulls up the hangar footage, make sure the Blue Lion hadn’t been stolen. It wasn’t, or at least, the footage was doctored to look as if it wasn’t. Mei sends continuous signals to the Blue Lion, not that it has a paladin to answer for it. Engineers are dispatched. Their squadrons are put on high alert. The Atlas’s panic seeps into him as Curtis tries and fails over and over again to track it.

Shay enters the bridge. Apparently, the Atlas brought her too, though Curtis has no idea how she’s supposed to help. Mei, however, does.

“Hunk found the Blue Lion on Earth right, Shay?” Mei questions, “any chance he told you how he did it?”

“I am sorry. I do not believe he did.”

“Mei, contact Captain Shirogane. He’s with Garrett on Altea, they can give us the information we need.”

Mei hails Shiro’s comms. Nothing. She hails him again. She hails Coran. Nothing. She hails each of the lions in turn. Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing._

“Commander I can’t reach the captain, Prime Minister Coran, or any of the paladins.”

The Blue Lion’s gone and New Altea’s gone radio silent. Curtis checks squadron intel to make sure the planet is still there. It is, but the panic has already spiked within him now.

“Shay,” Curtis voice comes out far more shrill than usual, “Are you sure you don’t remember anything? Anything at all.”

“I only know that he was studying to be an engineer.”

“Okay. How does an engineer track a spaceship then?”

“Uh, by the materials?” Mei offers.

It’s worth a shot. They pull up the schematics for the Blue Lion. They find the elemental signature. They try tracking that. It works.

“New Altea?”

Curtis’s stomach churns. Five signatures blink at them on screen. Mei hails New Altea again, but only silence answers. Then, his stomach drops when the signatures drop out. He reruns the tracking program. They stay gone. No trace of their special elemental make-up. As if they just stopped existing. And New Altea. Still. Isn’t. Answering.

He rises from his chair. Iverson barks at him to get back to his post, but he’s already walking off the bridge. Shay follows him.

“What are you doing?”

“Commandeering a pilot.”

He doesn’t bother knocking before he lets himself into Veronica and Acxa’s bunk room. A small mistake, as they are… otherwise engaged.

“¡Hijo de gran puta, Francito! And… Shay?!” Veronica throws the blanket over them, but it’s hardly the worst state he’s seen her in.

“Shiro and the others have gone incommunicado and the Lions have disappeared.”

Veronica freezes. Acxa immediately pulls herself out from underneath Veronica. Curtis looks away as she gets dressed. A shuffling of sheets signals Veronica has started to get dressed too.

“What’s the plan?” Acxa asks.

“We steal a ship and go see what the hell is happening on New Altea.”

Reasonably clothed, she and Veronica join him in the hall. They don’t quite run, but they are rather quick to get down to the shuttle hangar. None of them have clearance to come down here, but clearance is hardly an issue when half of your group has a mental link to the ship. As Acxa boots-up the controls, Iverson’s voice booms over the speakers.

“Hartfield! Garrett! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Curtis answers, “we’re going to New Altea, sir. If we can’t establish radio contact we’re going to see for ourselves.”

“You don’t have authorization to leave. No one goes near New Altea until we know more about the situation. Both of you report to the bridge in the next dobosh or I will have you court-martialed.”

Curtis glances around at everyone else. They’re all waiting on him for a decision. Acxa and Veronica are agents of a different organization and Shay can always return to the Balmera, but Curtis, well…

He made a promise.

“Sorry, sir.”

He tugs on that connection to the Atlas, and the hangar door opens for them. Acxa pulls the ship out, engaging the thrusters and shields. They speed away and the Atlas fades behind them. Veronica slips into work mode, handling the incoming messages from the Atlas while continuously hailing New Altea.

Guilt eats at the edges of his anxiety. He should do more, not let Acxa and Veronica do all the work. Yet, he’s pinned in place, helpless as he stares out the window. Itching to move, but not able to commit fully, he shoves his hands in his pockets. His fingers brush over wood.

Distracted, he removes it and stares hard at the shiny coat of pink it has. His Clefairy figurine. He’d put it in his pocket this morning, teasing Shiro that it was his good luck charm. Evidently, he forgot to take it out before bed. He could use some good luck right now. He fiddles with it, probably wearing out the paint just as the continued radio silence wears out his nerves.

“This is Captain Takashi Shirogane of the IGF-ATLAS,” Shiro’s voice crackles through the ship comms. “All of the paladins of Voltron are accounted for and are well on New Altea. We are not in distress. Repeat, we are not in distress.”

Curtis can breathe again. He reaches for Shay who grips his arm in return, her skin feels clammy to the touch, but she smiles, her posture softening in relief. His other hand goes to Veronica’s shoulder.

“Ask him about the lions.”

“What is the status of the Voltron lions, Captain?”

“Gone, but it’s fine. It’s… It’s too complicated to explain, but the lions are gone.”

A universe without Voltron. They’ve lived in it for a year now, but a universe without any of the lions just seems…

As they are already on a trajectory towards New Altea, Shiro asks them to come. Afterall, they’re stranded there without their lions now, they’ll need a ship. It takes 2 vargas to land outside the newly built castle, Allura’s statue overlooking their arrival.

The very first thing he does when they disembark is pull Shiro into his arms. He’s warm, solid, alive.

“Overreact a little, Curt?”

He huffs against his neck, “don’t start.” Curtis pulls back and drinks in the sight of him. His hair fluffed and curling slightly from the wind, his eyes crinkled, his smile dopey. The last vestiges of worry eek out of him with a shaky laugh.

“You have a habit of going missing and being presumed dead.”

“I only died the one time though.”

To shut him up, Curtis clamps his mouth over his. Shiro kisses him back as if he _had_ gone missing. A noise of disgust comes from Pidge and Curtis flips the bird behind Shiro’s back.


	18. Break

“I talked to Iverson,” Shiro says once they’re alone.

A cold, sharp stone drops in Curtis’ stomach. In the two vargas between receiving the news that Shiro and the rest of the paladins were alright and landing on Altea, he had plenty of time to panic about it. Then he saw Shiro and it promptly dropped-out as a priority.

“So, I’m court-martialed?”

“If he has his way, you will be.”

Curtis nods. Iverson’s old school; rule of law means something to him. And sure, he turns a blind eye to the rules for the paladins just like everyone else. But Curtis isn’t one of their number. If he’s lucky, he’ll just get a dishonorable discharge. If he’s not so lucky…

“Curt, don’t worry.” Shiro grabs both his hands. “We’ll fix it.”

“Fix what?” Curtis blinks at him.

He disobeyed a direct order. He stole a ship. There’s nothing that they can do to fix that. He made his choice, these are the consequences.

“You being court-martialed. We’ll fix it. It won’t happen.”

Shiro’s mouth forms a hard line and Curtis sees the pure conviction there. He also sees where that conviction can lead Shiro. Blatant favoritism, flouting laws, a forced resignation from his post, a disgraced status, a man who throws everything away over a boyfriend. Shiro will debase himself in order to save Curtis from this. And no. No. He cannot be the end of Shiro’s career, his reputation, of all the good things Shiro can still do for the universe.

“Don’t interfere with it, Shiro,” Curtis says, dead serious as he grips at Shiro’s hands. Hard, trying to get the point across, almost shaking with the exertion.

“They’ll arrest you.”

“I know.”

“They’ll throw you in a cell.”

“I know.”

All at once, Shiro’s face goes red and livid. His words come out loud and desperate. “Stop saying that! You don’t know! You don’t know what it means to be imprisoned! You don’t know what it’ll do to me if I could have stopped it and I didn’t. You can’t be put in a cell. I can’t. I can’t. I just _can’t_. Curt, I need. I can’t. Please!”

Shiro forgets to breathe. Curtis draws him in close to his chest, making sure he has enough room to get in air.

“Sweetheart breathe with me. Just breathe with me.”

Eventually his breath does even out, but it’s replaced by shaking. Curtis feels the wet pricks of tears through his shirt. It burns him to see Shiro like this. That his dumb choice has forced this on them both. The worst is, if he had to do it again, he would. There was no way to know what happened to Shiro and the others, and there was no way he could just sit and wait.

Someone knocks on their door and Shiro jumps out of his hold.

Shiro scrubs at his eyes and Curtis walks over to answer it. Keith stands on the other side with his arms crossed, Lance next to him.

“We heard Shiro yelling, is he okay?”

Curtis steps back to let them see for themselves, “he’s upset that I’m getting court-martialed.”

Shiro huffs a dry laugh, his face still red and a little puffy around the eyes, “don’t let him fool you. I’m taking it very well.”

Keith and Lance step inside. Curtis explains why exactly he’s in trouble, they both voice their outrage. Their reactions surprise him. Paladins operate on all for one, one for all code, but he didn't realize he had arrived in that protected inner circle.

“Shame the Garrison doesn’t work the same way as the Blades,” Keith muses, “we couldn’t just kick everyone out who disobeyed orders, not with being a secret society and all. They would be transferred to someone else’s command and that usually fixed it.”

“And if it didn’t’?”

Keith makes a slicing motion across his throat.

“Oh,” Curtis gulps. “That’s efficient.”

Lance looks to Shiro, “couldn’t he just transfer? It’ll erase any look of favoritism on your part, and well, Iverson would be rid of him either way, it could get him to drop it.”

“It might work…”

Shiro shifts his eyes to Curtis once again. Keith and Lance, even Altea fades from them in that instant. The price of getting out of this mess runs high. Leaving the Atlas, leaving Shiro, leaving the community he’s made for himself amongst the stars. He still has the prints of Shiro’s tears on his shirt, still hears his breathless panic in his ears. He made his choice; these are the consequences.

“Let’s do it,” Curtis says, he looks to his newfound co-conspirators in turn. “Any chance you know a commanding officer in the Garrison who’s willing to take on a treasonous putain like me?”

“Pidge,” Lance and Keith say with zero hesitation.

Shiro moves closer to him, hand sliding to the small of Curtis’ back. “You did like working with her before.”

Curtis breathes out, “alright. Well, we can ask her in the morning, it’s late and—”

“Ha!” Lance shakes his head, “you think that little monster sleeps? Please, she’ll be more than happy to do it now. And the sooner the better. C’mon.”

In under a varga Curtis’s transfer to Pidge’s research team is approved. Official and everything. No longer an officer of the IGF-Atlas, no longer Shiro’s subordinate, his identity goes adrift.

“Thank you for doing this, I know it’s a big favor.”

“Oh, no problem.” Pidge makes a show of examining her fingernails, before she looks back up at him with an impish grin, “just remember, you’re under my command now, and I don’t cuddle like Shiro does.”

Shiro sputters next to him. Keith pats Shiro on the shoulder in pity. Lance laughs. Curtis just smiles, lets a pearl of hope form inside him, anchors his determination to it, lets the anxiety go.

“Permission to go cuddle Shiro, ma’am?”

Pidge scrunches her face and waves him away, telling him to drop the ma’am and that she better not hear it again.

Curtis leans back against the door for support when they reenter their room. Alone again, but everything different. It’s a lot to take in, but they only have so much time together. He reaches out, catches Shiro by the wrist and pulls them together. Everything’s different but this: the feel of Shiro’s mismatched hands on him, the steam of his kiss, the mewl Shiro makes when Curtis tugs on his hair.

“We’re going to make this work, right?” Shiro breathes, frightened.

“We are.”

* * *

Instead of immediately leaving for the Atlas the next day, they spend two full quintants on Altea. The Atlas changes course to come to them, but first they have to see to the safe travel of their diplomatic guests. Once it lands, Pidge and Hunk can get started on putting in a teleduv. Once that’s done. he’ll leave for his new post on Earth.

The Blade does not come to collect Keith, Acxa and Veronica. Apparently, Keith has been ignoring his accumulating shore leave and Krolia is happy to maroon him with his friends.

It’s an unexpected vacation and they take full advantage of it. He does his best to ignore the clock, live in the moment, soak it all in before he has to tell Shiro good-bye.

Their first quintant Coran and Romelle play happy hosts, shuffling their group from place to place, telling stories and histories over 10 millennia old. They explore the castle which houses all of the current Altean population, as well as various refugee groups. The paladins compare it with vivid narratives to the old castle ship that Curtis only ever saw in blueprints. After dinner they start a Monsters and Mana campaign that runs late into the night.

Their second quintant they hike some, picnic in the fields of juniberry flowers, tell Voltron stories. Pidge challenges Curtis to try the Altean language learning system, and fumes when he doesn’t get attacked until level 53. She half-threatens him with a double shift the second they arrive on Earth.

Their very last night culminates in a three-in-one pajama-karaoke-dance party.

Right now, he’s listening to Lance carry Keith through a duet, watching Veronica teach Pidge, Hunk, Shay and Coran how to salsa with Acxa’s help. Next to him Romelle bops along to the song, occasionally asking for clarification on lyrics while on the other side Shiro not so discreetly records the performance for future blackmail. Granted, he doesn’t know much about Allura outside of what he’s been told about her, but he suspects this is how she’d like to be honored. Her loved ones together and forgetting the universe’s troubles for a weekend. If not, well that’s what’s she’s getting.

He likes what this weekend has done for Shiro. His jaw only clenches during his more competitive moments, like the rather spirited game of charades they played at lunch. When Curtis touches his lower back, or his shoulders, they feel relaxed, loose even. His smile reaches his eyes more often than not.

Then there’s the PDA.

He’s freer with it here. Maybe it’s the too soon separation. Maybe it’s the fact he’s among people who don’t call him sir, or captain unless it’s in jest. Maybe it’s both. When they walk together, Shiro makes certain to link their hands together. He rests his head against Curtis’s shoulder whenever convenient. The kissing happens more too. Hands, cheeks, forehead. All fair game. Shiro remains too reserved to initiate kisses on the lips in front of others, but it hardly stops him from pulling Curtis into shadowed corners.

_The fire rages and yeah it rages for you._

Curtis snaps his head up. PBB. His eyes focus in on Veronica who’s gained control of music playing from Pidge’s device. The evil, curled McClain smirk warps her face.

“I fucking hate you.”

She turns up the volume.

He leaps to his feet and stalks over to her trying to snatch the music player from her hands. A game of keep away ensues. He chases after her only for her to pass it to Lance, who passes it to Hunk, who tosses it to Coran. Overeager, Coran chucks it at Romelle. She ducks, lest it take off her head. It rockets over her and into the wall. The music stops with a crunch.

“Sorry number 5! Don’t know my own strength!”

Pidge picks up the broken player, shaking her head at the lost cause. “It’s alright Coran, it was a terrible song anyway.”

Across the room, Shiro gives him a sympathetic wince. The dance party over, they call it a night. The Atlas is due to arrive early and reality with it. Goodnights are exchanged as they head towards the wing that contains their rooms.

Curtis takes him to bed. He turns his attention to Shiro’s throat. All the hickey’s he’s dreamed of planting there since Buena Noche bloom against pale skin. Shiro paws, pants under him to bite harder, to make more. He wants them to last after he leaves. Curtis caves, dropping them down his chest, across his torso, freckling his hips and thighs with them. His mouth grows tired, jaw aching, but he doesn’t stop, not until Shiro turns him over.

Shiro swallows him whole, and Curtis flings a grateful head back against the pillow. He cums embarrassingly quick, but the pride that rides Shiro’s features is worth it. Shiro kisses his tired mouth slow, to make sure he gets a good taste himself. Curtis keens. He feels himself harden again. He presses a thumb into one of the larger bruises just under Shiro’s ear.

“Make love to me,” Shiro moans into his mouth.

Dieu, he wishes he could. Wishes he could bury himself in Shiro’s warm, willing body and turn the strongest man in the universe to a blissed-out mess. But he can’t.

“No supplies.”

Shiro drops away from him with a disappointed grunt. Curtis laughs after him, nosing against his throat.

“Sorry that in my rush to make sure you were still alive that I didn’t think to bring condoms and lube.”

“Apology not accepted.”

Curtis frowns, trying to think of alternatives. “How about a bath instead?”

Altean baths used a more gel like substance instead of water, something that Curtis considered close to aloe vera. Shiro had complained to him once that everything on the original castle ship seemed to be some sort of goo, and now after two days on Altea, he understood. Fresh water, or water in general was scarce on Altea, hence why they don’t even have rain. All their plants and wildlife were drought resistant or hydrated by other means.

Shiro weighs the merits and then shrugs, “why not?”

It works. Slow and gentle, but not for the usual romantic reasons. If regular shower sex presented some cumbersome logistics, Altean bath sex presented near impossible demands on ability, dexterity, and tenacity. It’s hardly the love-making Shiro requested. But a sense of triumph settles over them in lieu of the usual doe-eyed haze.

“Koishiteru.”

Curtis nearly misses it between uneven breaths and the slush of the gel. But he hears it. His blood goes icy-hot.

“It means-“

“I remember.”

After the bridge debacle and they were on speaking terms again, he had asked how to say I love you in Japanese. Like a lot of languages outside of French and English, Japanese has a hierarchy of meaning. Daisuki for things and people you liked. Aishiteru for people in committed relationships. Then Koishiteru… The expression of love so strong that you maybe say it a handful of times in your entire life and never to someone you don’t want to spend said life with. Saying it is practically a marriage proposal.

“I’m sorry. It’s too soon isn’t it? We haven’t- Not even a year-“

Curtis stops him right there, putting his hand over Shiro’s mouth, then replacing it with his own. He ignores the nasty cucumber-like taste of the gel. Shiro gives a happy little hum, pressing back against him. It grants Curtis some time to think.

Coming from anyone else in the universe, Curtis would say Shiro’s just confused, a little over eager, that it is too soon. But he’s not just anyone. It’s his language, his culture. Shiro _knows_ how serious it is. And it certainly is not Curtis’ place to make him question what he feels.

If only it was mutual.

Curtis breaks away and says nothing, hating the sad realization dawning in Shiro’s eyes. No, no. Don’t look like that. It’s not a lack of love, or devotion, or commitment on Curtis’ part it’s just… Not where he is. Not when he’s set to leave for Earth and they’ll be busy starting from scratch.

“I do love you, Shiro. Really. I love you so much. It hurts how much I love you. Please don’t be upset. I promise when I know I want to marry you I’ll say it back. I’ll say it back, I swear. The very second I know.”

“But not now?”

The confirmation breaks his heart. “No. Not now.”

Shiro considers him in silence. It takes every ounce of willpower to keep from looking away. His whole body stiffens under Shiro’s scrutiny.

“So, we agree,” Shiro’s face widens with a slow smile, “you’re going to be the one who proposes. I’m okay with that.”

In that moment Curtis comes so close to crossing the line into koishiteru territory that he stubs his toe on it. He flings his arms around Shiro, laughing in relief and splashing bathing gel all around them. Shiro laughs too, and the chime of it lifts the pieces of his heart back in place. Yes, he’ll propose. Someday. When it’s right.


	19. Little by Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're depressed and you know it clap your hands! If you're depressed and you know it clap your hands. If you're depressed and you know it and you DON'T want to show it clap your hands!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I know it's been way toooooo long since I updated. I got busy with the family over this 4th of July week. Hope you all had a happy and safe 4th, and if you didn't that your 5th is better.
> 
> So, this chapter deals a lot with depression if the summary didn't tip you off. If you find that triggering or just don't plain enjoy it, I'd skip to the third page break.

Curtis stumbles, fumbles, and falls through his transition to living and working full-time on Earth. For a man who had done nothing else prior to the invasion, it’s almost laughable for him to have so much difficulty. He would laugh, if he could summon up the energy.

Raquel helps him find an apartment. A small, but furnished one that suits his current needs. The dorms at the Garrison are full of either young cadets, or older admins. He’s too old to be interested in the company of the former, but the later consider him far too young and scandalous to be good company.

As soon as she sees him settled, Raquel all but disappears into her new relationship. Not with Marco McClain, that had faded after a few dates, but with the nice cook who works at a local diner. Curtis can’t exactly blame her. Everyone does it at the beginning of a relationship. It just leaves him a little in the lurch. Afterall, she’s the only friend he has on Earth that he doesn’t share with Shiro, that knew him pre-invasion. But it’s no big deal. It’s not. He’s happy that she’s happy. It’s fine.

When he made the transfer originally, he intended to drive himself into the work to get over change between being on the Atlas and being on Earth, but the work is relatively easy-going. There’s no immediate need for things to get done. Not like on the Atlas. Not like in their missions. When people are done for the day, they just _leave_. Quittin’ time they call it. They drop what they’re working on to pick up the next day, off to enjoy a life that has nothing to do with work. It’s weird.

It’s not the only growing pain. It’s the empty apartment he comes back to at night. Even in his moments alone on board, he wasn’t. The Atlas herself was just a graze of a thought away. Hell, he shared a room a quarter the size of his new place with another grown man.

Some nights, most nights really, he doesn’t bother turning on the lights after the sun goes down. It’s just him, and he knows his way around in the dark now. Either he’ll stay on the couch and think about making dinner while he plays mindless games on his tablet or slump his way into the bedroom and play mindless games on his tablet and think about how he probably should have made dinner.

Veronica stops calling. Weird work hours and the time difference make regular video calls difficult to sustain. So, they go back to texts. He sends her pictures of the lab fluffies and she sends pictures of her life on Daibazaal. The communication stays consistent, but flat and soon it turns to just another task he has to fulfill in order not to rouse concern.

Shiro calls almost every day. Texts don’t work for Shiro half so well and he only calls when Earth time allows for it. But, if he calls after sunset, Curtis puts it on a video feed less and less. He can’t find the motivation to get up and turn on a light. He lies, says it’s because he’s just getting out of the shower and whoever is monitoring the calls doesn’t get to see the goods. Almost whenever Shiro calls he always seems to have gotten out of the shower, but Shiro doesn’t mention it.

“I feel like we should give them a name.”

“Who?” The suggestion confuses him enough to bring him back into the fold of the conversation.

“Whoever’s job it is to monitor our comms. Feels rude to talk about them and not at least give them a name.”

“Oh. Uh, how about Fred?”

“It should be gender neutral.”

“Francis?”

“Like Francito?” Shiro laughs and it brings a smile to Curtis’s dry lips. He should go get water, or some lip balm, or tough it out. Tough it out it is. “I don’t think so.”

“Rene, then? That’s gender neutral.”

“Better. Hi, Rene! How are you doing today?”

Silence. But silence from a person is better than silence from an empty room, so Curtis laughs.

“Curt?”

“Hmm?”

Shiro pauses, Curtis strains to hear the inhale of his breath, but he hears it. “Are you really okay?”

Curtis shifts his weight to his other side, now facing the back of the couch. Not that much different in the dark, except this way is a little warmer and maybe if he uses his imagination, he can imagine that it’s the fabric of Shiro’s uniform brushing against his face.

“I’m fine, promise. I’m just a little tired. Pidge is demanding.”

“She is,” Shiro confirms and Curtis can almost see the smile. “But she says you keep turning her down for trivia night.”

He flops onto his back, internally groaning. The last thing Shiro needs, the last thing _he_ needs is someone giving him updates on his status. He doesn’t need to feel any guilt for making Shiro worry, because he’s not going to be able to do anything to alleviate it. Things are what they are. He doesn’t mind going to work, doing a good job, and then coming back here. It’s simple, it’s easy. No muss no fuss after all the muss and fuss Shiro and his friends already had to make to keep him out of a prison cell.

“Trivia night is at a bar. And I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time I got drunk with my commanding officer,” Curtis says, teasing, distracting him.

“Hmm. Maybe you do need to remind me.” Shiro’s voice drops to a purr and the sound of it sends Curtis’ blood flow south; a sensation he hasn’t had in a while.

“I’d love to, but Rene’s listening.”

“Damn.”

Curtis nods, forgets that Shiro can’t see him. Their conversation tapers-off after that. He’s left with the wish that it won’t and will end.

“Just, promise me you’ll consider it the next time she asks, alright? She’s ace so I doubt she’ll make a move on you like that last C.O. of yours.”

Shiro’s joking, but the request is serious. If Curtis denies it, it’ll give Shiro real reason for concern.

“I’ll go if I’m not too tired.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When they hang up, Curtis flips over, starts palming his half-hard dick until it stands at full attention. He takes what got it up in the first place and rolls with it. He pictures how that night would have gone if he hadn’t stopped it short. Behind closed lids with his forehead braced against the armrest, he sees a Shiro in all his debauched glory being pummeled into the mattress of Lance’s bed, moaning about how wrong it was one second, then how badly he needs it the next.

He finishes, but no satisfaction comes. He’s all too aware of himself now. Pants and underwear rolled down just enough, his chest heaving while his rented couch gains a new, gross stain. The darkness fails to shadow over how lonely and pathetic he really is.

When Pidge does ask him to trivia again, he accepts. Then, the night of, he crawls into bed in full uniform and lets himself to doze through it, waking every once in awhile to note how much he’s already missed. Three hours after its over, he checks his phone and comms. A dozen missed calls from Pidge with corresponding voicemails that he deletes without listening first. There’s a single text on his comms, but it’s from Shiro.

_Too tired?_

Curtis throws it across the bed and doesn’t retrieve it when it bounces off.

* * *

The next morning dawns and Curtis is awake to appreciate it. Not just because he couldn’t fall back to sleep after reading and refusing to respond to Shiro’s message, but because Raquel arrives.

When something jangles in the lock in his front door, survival instincts kick-in. Curtis jumps out of bed; grabs the knife he keeps beside and waits. Not all of him lies in ill-contented lethargy; what kept him alive through an invasion and then during service in outer space awakens with a roar. He almost smiles.

Raquel’s voice squashes that roar however. Not an intruder. Per se.

“Curt? Are you home?”

Curtis sighs, puts the knife away and crawls back into bed. She finds him there a moment later. He hears one thump against the thin carpet, then two more. Then she’s rounding the bed, barefoot and climbing in next to him. He doesn’t even bother to roll over so he doesn’t have to look at the concern in her eyes.

“This seems familiar,” she says, tucking the extra pillow he never uses under her chin.

“This is nothing like that,” he takes the defensive. For one thing, he’s capable of getting out of bed. Raquel had to be hoisted. Though, it is hard to tell which is worse: being lost in grief and incapable of finding a way out or being lost in the dark and choosing to forget the light.

“You’re right. You didn’t abandon me.”

“Yes, I did.”

He did. Eventually. To go on the Atlas, to serve a purpose greater than himself, to forget everything bad on Earth, to make friends and allies and fall in love. To have a life.

Raquel takes his chin in hand, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger like he’s seen her do with Anissa when Anissa has misbehaved and isn’t listening. Her eyes turn hard even as they water and her mouth twists.

“You got me through the first leg of it and I hate that I didn’t notice what was happening to you. I always seem to be a step behind on these things.”

Curtis can’t handle her guilt, so he closes his eyes. Her hand shifts and starts running over his hair. The question of who sounded the alarm to Raquel drifts through his mind. Shiro most likely, Veronica possibly, Pidge maybe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is another warm body with a soft touch. He falls asleep.

Sometime later he wakes-up. It might be mid-afternoon if he’s judging the light right. Raquel no longer lays next to him. She has been replaced by the smell of something cooking instead. His stomach drags him from the bed and seats him on one of two barstools supplied. Raquel gives him a smile and ladles out something out of the crockpot and puts it in front of him.

Since when did he have a crockpot? Curtis scans the apartment. Raquel didn’t waste anytime tidying up. The mail sits in sorted piles. The dishes left in the sink have been washed and cleared. The cushions on the couch sit naked and he can hear their covers tumbling in the dryer now. There are vacuum lines in the carpet, a wonder he slept through all of it.

“It’s beef stroganoff,” Raquel says, nudging the bowl forward to remind him of it.

“I never cared for stroganoff.”

The words come unbidden, part of a song from a kid’s movie he saw a long, long time ago. Funny the way things spring up like that.

“She said that like a Romanov,” Raquel finishes for him, smiling. “Jesus, Anissa was obsessed with that movie.”

Despite the angry protest from his belly, Curtis pushes the food around. Anissa, when she was real, real young woke him up about 5 AM one morning while her parents were asleep and made him watch it with her. In that one visit home he must have watched it a dozen times.

He takes a bite. It’s not made with delicious alien ingredients disguised artfully as human food, but it’s warm and salty and his body hums with need. He finishes half before Raquel slides him a glass of ice water. The water both soothes and irritates him. In the desert the water is hard, packed with minerals that only expensive filters can properly get rid of. It’s unhappy reminder of where he is, where he’s not. It puts him off his food.

Raquel takes the bowl from him, “how about you go take a shower?”

He sees what’s she’s doing. Sleep, food, hydration, now hygiene. He hates that he needs someone else to manage it for him, but he’s hardly able to manage it himself. If she wasn’t here he probably would have had a bowl of cold cereal to sustain him through a day of doing nothing but staring at the walls; thinking for the millionth time that he hates the murky tan color and deciding which colors he would rather have instead and never follow through on it.

He takes the shower. The hot water runs out on him before he even uses any soap, but standing in the steam helps him screw his head back on a little tighter. Maybe if he can act normal enough once he’s dressed he can convince Raquel she’s no longer needed. She can report that he’s alive and well and she can go back to her life. Go back to her diner cook and her kid and his parent’s house.

The plan doesn’t work so well. When he dresses again, the covers return to the cushions and Raquel has gotten comfy on the couch as she watches the news. She pats the space next to her and he sits down obediently. The fabric is softer after being washed. Smells nicer too. He drops into the mindlessness of TV. A new garrison base opens in Japan, flights grounded due to storms in the Midwest, a Galra language school receives threats, a local dog adopts orphaned kittens.

Raquel makes the stray comment here and there, but doesn’t try to get him to talk. She offers him snacks as she eats them, he takes one or two. He even sips at the water he didn’t finish earlier when she hands it to him.

When it gets late, Raquel leaves, telling him she’ll be back for dinner tomorrow.

“I’ll bring Anissa,” she leans over to kiss the top of his head before she heads for the door, “she’s been asking after you.”

Curtis manages a half smile at the idea. He anticipates that he’ll be tired afterwards, but it’ll be nice to see her. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Shiro calls. He hesitates to answer it. He’s sure to be annoyed after being ignored. And Raquel’s visit has only gotten him to a baseline of feeling okay today. But the lights are on, so he answers, with video.

“Hey,” Shiro says, his face full of soft surprise, “long time no see.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They fall to silence. Curtis would blame it on the connection fizzling out, but he can clearly see the effort on Shiro’s face to find the right words.

“You’re allowed to struggle with this, Curt,” Shiro tells him, “I know I am. I’m struggling with it, but I’m worried about you. You’re not yourself. You haven’t been for a while now and I know it’s not just about me, or us, but is there anything I can do?”

Come to Earth, stay with me, Curtis thinks then revises it, let me come back to the Atlas. I miss her. I miss you. I miss our friends. I miss being busy and happy.

But both options require sacrifices he can’t stand for Shiro to make. Not for him. He made his choice, these are the consequences. He’ll have to figure out a way to live with them.

“Don’t give up on me?”

“Never.”

He slumps on the couch even as his spirit rises just a little because he believes him. Shiro won’t give up on him, won’t stop loving him even if he melts right into this couch and never returns. He has Shiro at least, even if it’s not in the physical sense.

They talk a little bit longer than usual. Curtis recites what he saw on the news that afternoon, which gets Shiro talking about what he knows of that area of Japan where the base is opening, which leads to a tiny vocab lesson in Japanese. It doesn’t bring the usual satisfaction that learning usually does for him. But Shiro smiles because this is at least a semblance of the Curtis he knows and loves and that makes him smile back.

* * *

Things get better. Little by little. It starts with dinner with Raquel and Anissa. Then apologizing to Pidge before work on Monday morning. She accepts it, with a condition.

“Join me for lunch.”

It’s a simple request and it’s a better option than eating at his desk surrounded by the fluffies who wait for crumbs. So he joins her, but they don’t eat. Instead, she marches them down to the hospital wing of the base and sits them both down in the counseling center waiting room.

“What are we doing here?” Curtis eyes the door. His work hasn’t been compromised because of his recent… mood. Nor has he posed a danger to himself or others, so Pidge has no reason to commit him. Still, visions of men in white with butterfly nets and straight jackets and padded rooms loom over him.

“We’re eating lunch,” she says pulling out a sandwich and taking a bite before she points to the hallway, speaking through a mouth full of peanut butter “microwafes on da lef.”

“It’s fine.”

He eats his left-over stroganoff cold. It puts a fatty film over his whole mouth, but he’s not taking the risk turning the corner to find an ambush of therapists. They finish their food in record time, but they don’t leave. He starts eyeing the door again.

“Matt did this for me. Brought me here. He made me fill out the intake form, but just so it would be ready when I was. After that we came here every morning, drank artificial coffee and then went to work.”

“Were you ever ready?”

“Yeah.” Pidge exhales, throwing herself back into the chair, sandwich wrapper crumpled in her lap. “When I realized what Matt and everyone else saw: Allura was dead and I didn’t know how to get past that. And I missed Voltron and I didn’t know what to do without that either.”

She rolls her head over to look at him, “I bet ten GAC you’re dealing with the same shit right now.”

Curtis looks away. Ten is a low number on such a sure bet. He glances at the door again.

“So, are you going to make me fill out the forms?”

“Nah, I’m not gonna abuse my power over you that way. But, I am going to invite you to have lunch with me and after all the times you’ve turned me down for trivia…”

Coercion by social guilt. Curtis nods his head. It’s a good tactic. It’ll work. A small, tiny, miniscule smile emerges.

“Fine.”

And so every day they have their lunch in the waiting room. Pidge never mentions the intake forms and Curtis starts using the microwave.

* * *

Talking becomes easier. Little by little. He gets plenty of practice. Lunches with Pidge boast conversations spanning from Monster and Mana campaign ideas to Altean linguistics. All very nerdy and nothing about the counseling services happening around them.

He sees Raquel and Anissa several times a week. On the weekends he’s often watching Anissa at some point while Raquel sees Michael, the new boyfriend. Sometimes the three of them make a trip up to the McClain ranch. The kids run around and they hang out with Lance. More than once they show-up during one of Keith’s visits, meaning that he also sees Acxa, who goes wherever Keith goes.

The irony isn’t lost on him. Having a more interaction with the people he loves through their loved ones. Life plays funny tricks like that.

It’s during one of these ironic cosmic alignments when the Galra language school is mentioned

“It’s a shame they can’t keep a regular staff,” Lance says, hands buried deep in Kosmo’s scruff as he pets him. “There’s more need than ever for people to learn it. What with all the refugees.”

There’s a nod from everyone around the patio. Earth experiences a stream of various groups seeking a secondary home. With the collapse of the empire meant the collapse of far-flung systems that had relied on the steady churn of the empire’s infrastructure and supplies. It’s the reason Keith and Acxa are here now. They just escorted one such group of 400 refugees to Earth.

“Can’t blame people though,” Raquel says, sipping on a beer. “What with all the Earth-First protesters and the threats. It doesn’t make it an easy place to work.”

Curtis frowns and finishes his own beer. Earth-First really meant Humans-First. The movement makes him walk a line between anger and panic that reminds him too much of his history with his parents. He’s been back on Earth for months now and they still have yet to reach out to him. It’s not like they don’t know. Raquel doesn’t keep it a secret that she sees him.

“Why don’t you go work there?” Acxa directs this question at him. “You speak Galra.”

“It would be a good fit. You have the background to help if things get hairy with the protesters,” Keith chimes in.

Raquel glares at Keith from a place of sisterly concern. “He’s already got a job.”

“I didn’t mean he should go and quit-”

“It’s alright,” Curtis steps in, placing a hand on Raquel’s shoulder, giving her a placating smile. “I might look into volunteering.”

And he does. Look into the volunteering. The next week after work he catches a bus over to the school, because he still hasn’t felt or seen the need to get a car. When he arrives there are protesters screaming, spitting, hurling insults, but thankfully not stones as he walks up to the main doors where he has to be buzzed in.

“You want to… volunteer?” The beleaguered desk clerk asks as she adjusts apple red glasses. It endears her to him right away. Veronica has the same habit.

“If you’d like the help.”

She waves her arms over the piles of paperwork around her. “I don’t even know what I need you for. What are your skills?”

He lists them. Computer programing, fluent in Galran and Altean, military training.

“I mean, I could even act as security if you want. I’m tall and I have mean resting bitch face.”

“You had me at speaking and reading Galran, name’s Kiki. Welcome aboard.”

Kiki shuffles him over to a chair hands him some forms. At the top the word employment has been crossed out in favor of volunteer. He must be the first.

“Fill those out and I’m gonna have to give you a proficiency test. Sorry, but we’ve had a couple people try and fake their way through teaching Galra just for the paycheck and we can’t risk losing our funding.”

“No problem.”

He fills them out. Passes the proficiency test with ease, pointing out the typo in one of the questions. Kiki beams.

“No one’s ever noticed it! I put it in on purpose!”

She sets him to the task of editing written assignments for some of the more advanced students. Simple underlining and circling. Soon the world of simple grammar and spelling swallows him until he’s suddenly staring at an empty desk.

“Um. I’m done?”

“Great!” Kiki slams another stack down in front of him. “Here you go.”

And rinse and repeat until Kiki dismisses the few instructors who showed up for the day. The protesters have dispersed, gone back home to rest their weary bones from harassing everyone else. Curtis walks Kiki and the other instructors to their cars anyway, just in case.

That night, Shiro gets an earful and then some.

“It’s incredible. Kiki has this one instructor, half Galra, half Iatasog, name’s Laktoki They took the bus with me and apparently, they’re from the Cicasrs system. After we liberated their home planet, they came to Earth looking to enlist, but didn’t qualify medically so they got referred to the language school. And according to Kiki-“

Shiro raises his hand to cover his mouth and Curtis stops. He has dark crescents under his eyes and this is the third poorly concealed yawn.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You need sleep and I’m keeping you from it.”

“Curt, are you kidding?” Shiro smiles wide through another yawn. “I want to hear everything. I love how excited you are about this.”

Excited. It strikes him like lightning, setting his hair on end. Excited, you have to have energy to feel excited and Curtis had it. Energy, excitement. Curtis has it again.

“Mon dieu.”

* * *

Life happens. Little by little.

Instead of being invited to trivia, Pidge invites herself and her brother and his android girlfriend over to Curtis’ apartment for Monsters and Mana night. It works. Who knew having people over would force him to be social? Though, now it doesn’t feel as much of a burden like it once did. A task to be checked-off or avoided.

He works, enjoys his lunches with Pidge, volunteers in the afternoons. Eats dinner either with Raquel and Anissa or over a video feed with Shiro or Veronica, who’s finally nailed down a regular routine for herself.

It still requires effort. All of it. He turns on the lights the second he’s home. He’s still wary of the door in the waiting room. And he’s taken to wearing his dog-tags out over his shirt where protesters can see them as a deterrent, a knife in his boot in case it’s not enough when he takes the bus home with Laktoki.

He still misses the presence of the Atlas in his mind. His former coworkers. And of course, Veronica and Shiro. But it no longer mires him. Like Raquel says, he’s through the first leg of it.

So, when his birthday rolls around and he doesn’t have Veronica or Shiro there, he makes sure to surround himself with the newer relationships in his life. As a reminder that he’s no longer alone in the dark, maybe that he never was.

He’s already talked to Shiro, who only had enough time to wish him a good day before he had to go on to his next duty. Veronica, as per their tradition, calls him exactly at midnight to sing to him the Cuban version of happy birthday. Then after work, his little apartment fills. Pidge, Matt, N-9, Raquel, Anissa, Lance, Nadia, Kiki, Laktoki and their life partner, Istak all come over for game night. Anissa and Nadia take Curtis’ room for their own use. Leaving the adults to drink and play board games; his only request for his birthday.

They’re in the midst of a heated domino game when someone knocks on his door.

“You expecting someone else?” Raquel inquires as she places her tile and takes her train down.

“Nope, might be a neighbor. We’re getting a little loud.”

Curtis stands just as Matt checks the peephole for him. He misses the knowing glance Lance and Pidge share behind him. Matt snickers and steps back. Curtis just shakes his head and answers the door, an apology for the noise dying on his lips when he sees who it is.

In front of him are his two favorite people in the universe. Shiro has a bow stuck on his shirt as a joke and Veronica sports a conical party hat.

“I-I… I don’t… I don’t know who to hug first!”

They both rush him, throwing their arms around him, smothering him in laughter. He grips them tight, happiness choking him.

“¡Ay! ¡No llores, Francito!” Veronica admonishes despite the moisture in her eyes too.

“Shut-up!” he ducks his face into the space between Veronica’s hair and Shiro’s shoulder.

“Happy Birthday,” Shiro whispers against his neck, kissing him there so softly that Curtis can’t help but shudder through the tears.

Eventually he pulls them into the party, letting them go just long enough for them to go hug their own friends and family inside while he gets himself a tissue. The second they get their hugs in, he loathes not touching them somehow. An arm around Shiro’s waist. A hand on Veronica’s shoulder. Luckily they feel the same.

Kiki, Laktoki, and Istak are a little star-struck by Shiro, but that quickly fades as Shiro demonstrates how terrible he is at various games and how very clingy he is when he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in too long. Curtis, with his head on Shiro’s shoulder and Veronica’s legs draped over his lap as they play Yahtzee, glances around. In the few bare spaces, he sees people he wishes were here. Against an ugly tan background, he watches the people who are here.

He feels lucky to be alive. Little by little.


	20. The Hart of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little resolution goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Some more family drama in this chapter. And mentions of sex, but nothing too terribly graphic. I can't believe this is the second to last chapter! AHHHH

The McClains take their leave last. Veronica who’s catching a ride home with them has made them wait to the point that Nadia is asleep over the curve of Lance’s shoulder as he nags Veronica to hurry it up. Everyone else has work in the morning. After getting a leg-swinging hug from Curtis she pokes her finger hard into Shiro’s chest.

“I expect to see him at the ranch for dinner tomorrow! Mami is making something big and she wants both of you there. No love cocoons.”

“No love cocoons,” Shiro agrees even as he wraps himself around Curtis from behind, perching his chin on his shoulder.

Veronica shakes her head, wishes them a good night and follows Lance out the door. When the door clicks closed, Curtis moves to turn around, but Shiro stops him. Arms tightening over his middle.

“Just. Let me hold you for a second longer?” Shiro tucks his face against his neck. “I want to kiss you and have sex and all that, but I missed this the most.”

“Me too.”

Dieu, has he missed _this_. Shiro’s warmth, his breath tickling his skin, the knowledge that he’s right here. It’s more intimate than sex. He settles back against him. Shiro must hit the gym a lot more often now, if the bulk of muscle he leans into indicates anything. He twines their fingers together. He’ll contact Shay; ask her to keep Shiro from disappearing too often into the dumbbells and training mat. Maybe force more pastries on him.

Shiro’s grip only loosens a smidge, but it’s enough. Curtis turns and draws him back in. If he just focuses, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his cheek against Shiro’s, he can feel Shiro’s heartbeat. _Koishiteru. Koishiteru_. It drums out. _Koishiteru. Koishiteru_. His heart thumps clumsily in reply.

He dips his head and Shiro meets him half-way. It aches sweetly to kiss him this slow. He gets Shiro into the bedroom. They turn his once lonely bed into an altar. And he _worships._

* * *

One little known fact is that Shiro is not a morning person. He rises early because he has to. He shines because he has to. Curtis enjoys indulging him, so he slips carefully from the bed so Shiro can sleep-in. Shiro rolls over with an unhappy grunt and claims the warm sheets Curtis left behind for himself before falling back asleep. Dieu, he looks perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He grabs his uniform so he can change in the bathroom. Fortunately, it’s Friday and since Shiro’s taken a week’s worth of leave they can spend all day in bed tomorrow. Finally. A day in bed that isn’t a waste of time.

He runs through the shower. The smell of sex rises with the steam. He smiles; the memory of it warms him better than the water.

It’s when he puts his dirtied bowl in the sink that Shiro stumbles out of the bedroom with the duvet Raquel insisted he needed wrapped around his shoulders. He bumps around until he hits his mark: Curtis. He muscles his way into Curtis’s arms, burrowing into his chest.

He’s absolutely perfect.

“Bonjour, mon étoile.”

Shiro grumbles against his chest, relinquishing his one arm so he can wrap it around him while the Altean counterpart keeps the duvet on. Curtis chuckles, drops a kiss to his head.

“Are you going to let me go?”

Shiro gives him a definitive shake of his head.

“Not even so I can go to work?”

Another shake of his head.

“If you let me go to work you get to go back to bed. Imagine it. You could sleep alllllll day and no one would bother you.”

Shiro goes still with thought. Curtis can picture the scrunch of his brow while he sleepily considers the options. After another beat he hears a low, “fiiiiiine.”

Curtis laughs again, tugs him just a bit closer. He kisses his temple. “I’ll be back before you know it. The second I’m done with work I’ll come straight here.”

Shiro lifts his face, his lips bowing down in confusion. “Don’t you go to the school after work?”

“I’ll skip today.”

“No,” Shiro says, voice still full of sleep, but with an edge reminiscent of his time as Curtis’ commanding officer. “You have a life and a routine. I don’t have the right to disrupt it. Go to the school like normal.”

“You had no problem with disrupting work.”

“You hate work.”

“No I don’t!”

Shiro’s eyes clear of all sleep and level him with a knowing look. Curtis frowns and then kisses him. He doesn’t want to fight about this, especially when he has to go. Especially when Shiro might be right.

“I gotta get going. I’ll be at done at the school around 6. Come pick me up?”

Shiro nods, leaning up and snagging another kiss.

When Curtis does arrive at work, he sees money change hands between the Holt siblings. When he inquires what it’s about, Pidge grins at her earnings and pockets them.

“How late you’d be to work today.”

Curtis checks his watch, “but I’m not late.”

“Exactly!”

Shiro’s words ring in his head. You hate work. Obviously not, how can he hate work when he has a boss like Pidge? The words follow him around all day regardless.

You hate work. Hate’s a strong word. Sure, computer programming hasn’t brought him a lot of happiness recently, but a lot of things that used to make him happy don’t anymore. You hate work. Hate’s a strong word. Sure, when he and Pidge head out for their usual lunch spot, he catches the suspicious, if not outright jealous looks of some of the junior officers. You hate work. Hate’s the wrong word, but so is love.

He calls Shiro on his way over to the school, just to check on him, make sure he knows how to use the shower, what the wifi password is. Shiro just laughs on the other side of the line.

“I miss you too, Curt. I’ll see you soon.”

He warns him to park down the street so that way he’s not noticed by any protesters and he hangs up. The crowds outside are louder than normal and a lot are pointed at the student he escorts in with him. The usual fare: traitor, spy, sell-out, others that are too vulgar to contemplate. As Curtis gets buzzed in, he hears:

“Galran Cock-Sucker!”

That one just makes him laugh. The student, a single mother looking to broaden her job prospects, gives him a look. Oh, she thinks he’s laughing at her.

“I mean I do suck cock. So, they’re half-right.”

Susan, the student, fights back a smile with a shake of her head. “I think that’s more than I’ve ever needed to know about you, Curtis.”

He mimes zipping his mouth and Susan cracks a smile before she goes and takes a seat with Laktoki. He walks over to Kiki’s desk, she gestures to his stack of essays to edit with her ocean-blue frames before she resumes cleaning the lenses. A different color for each day.

You hate work. Shiro’s words echo one last time as he sets to the task in front of him. He doesn’t hate this. The work is simpler than what he does at the Garrison, but it feels closer to the work he did on the Atlas. Important, straight forward, the effects of his effort clear. Susan, for instance, isn’t mixing the pronouns anymore. He feels himself growing too, the more he observes the instructors like Laktoki he’s learning more about teaching a language instead of just learning one.

Maybe he’ll talk it through with Shiro after dinner with the McClains.

The rest of Shiro’s visit is just… bliss. Saturday they spend mostly in bed, or on the couch. The lazy day that Shiro has earned a thousand times over. Curtis doesn’t let him get up to retrieve water, or snacks, or really anything. He can’t help him with trips to the bathroom, but everything else he takes care of.

“I thought I was visiting for _your_ birthday,” Shiro yawns as Curtis drapes the blanket over his shoulders.

“I want to spoil you.”

“Just for today,” he shuffles closer, pressing his lips to Curtis’s cheek. “Tomorrow it’s all about you.”

And Sunday is all about him. Shiro sneaks out of bed the next morning to bring him crepes before he wakes up. They go driving through the desert and makes good on the cliff-diving promise Shiro made long ago. When it gets too hot they head downtown. They find a bar with chessboard designs inlaid their tables. Or rather, Shiro takes them to the bar he found the other day specifically for the occasion. They play a few games with the pieces Shiro commissioned Mei to make for his birthday: classically styled pieces, a little oversized so they can double as shot glasses. They get suitably tipsy.

The few times they’re approached by people who recognize the captain of the Atlas, Shiro pretends he’s some random guy with a floating arm.

“Yeah, I get that all the time. He sounds pretty cool though.”

People don’t like it, don’t believe him, but Shiro’s nothing if not calm determination incarnate; even when drunk. Curtis has to hide his smile behind his hand every time. When they ask Curtis to confirm or deny Shiro’s identity, he just speaks in whatever language he suspects they don’t know. They don’t like that either.

On Monday it’s back to business as usual, with the exception that when he wakes-up it’s with Shiro. When he gets done volunteering at the school, it’s Shiro who takes him home. When he has dinner, it’s Shiro that he has it with. When he visits with Lance and Veronica, or the Holts, or Raquel, it’s Shiro at his side.

It’s a window into a life they could have. One where Shiro isn’t responsible for holding universal peace together with his bare hands. One where Curtis isn’t afraid of turning on the light. Curtis does his best not to sour the time they have together by yearning for that life.

When Thursday morning comes, Curtis silences his alarm and curls closer to Shiro’s slumbering form. The night before they had stayed up late, doing what they do best together: strategizing. They have a plan on how to better tackle this long-distance thing. They have set dates for when Shiro will visit, Buena Noche and his birthday and Curtis will visit him on Altea for Allura Day. They’ll trade touch for gifts, now that supplies run regularly back and forth from the Atlas and Earth.

“You have to use video when I call you,” Shiro whispers to him in the dark, less of a demand and more of a plea. “I worry when I don’t see your face.”

Curtis doesn’t blame him, not a bit. He agrees, adds his own caveat.

“If you haven’t slept, don’t stay awake to call me. Send me a message, tell me you love me, then go to sleep.”

As he reviews their plan in his head, Shiro stirs, looking back over his shoulder. The sleepy smile makes Curtis’ whole body weak. He’ll be late to work today.

* * *

The first few nights after Shiro leaves are unbearable. The empty space in his bed mocks him and keeps him from sleep.

Then, the first of Shiro’s gifts arrives in the mail for him. A receipt for an undisclosed order from a store downtown and a note telling him it should be ready for pick-up by the time he gets the receipt. He goes the next day after he gets done with volunteering. He nearly cries in the middle of the store. It’s a custom plush doll of the Atlas in her mecha form. He sets right on top of the pillow Shiro used when he was there and Curtis may or may not pat its soft, velvety head before he goes to sleep each night.

He sends Shiro a weighted blanket decorated in star constellations in return. To which Shiro grumps contentedly about how it only makes it that much harder to get up and moving in the mornings.

Their gift-giving sparks the romance between them again, something Curtis was afraid he had ruined which his mood the last few months. Shiro mainly sends him things to fill the blank spots of Curtis’s apartment. Wildly patterned yet cozy pillows that make his couch look more inviting. Lavender bath sheets that are as soft as sin. A cookie jar in the shape of the Black Lion as a joke. Not that Curtis treats it like one, he fills it and empties it every week with Anissa’s help. At one point a dog bed gets delivered to his apartment and it results in a heart attack on Curtis’s part.

“You are _NOT_ getting me a dog!” Curtis shouts the instant the call connects.

Shiro, unaccustomed to such abuse, goes wide-eyed and throws his hands up in defense, “I’m not!”

The dog bed was for Kosmo. Shiro put in the wrong delivery address.

Curtis’s presents for Shiro follow no exact plan. He just finds good stuff when he goes out shopping with Raquel and adds a twist. A book of haikus in the original Japanese, with flowers pressed between the pages. A solo date night package: a bottle of red wine paired with chocolates and an erotica novel. A retro Pokémon game that with Pidge’s help he made compatible with a newer hand-held game console.

“I’m Japanese. Gift-giving is an inherent part of my culture. It’s in my blood. And you’re beating me at it!”

Curtis laughs as he lights one of the scented candles Shiro sent. Cherry blossom. He shrugs, happy with his newfound talent, “you can’t be the best at everything.”

With his love life back in proper balance, Curtis finds himself considering his job more and more. Besides Pidge and the fluffies there wasn’t much he enjoyed about it. He likes the respectability it brings him, but he keeps being drawn further and further away of the mission of the Galaxy Garrison and further and further into the mission of the language school. He attends their version of a graduation just before Christmas. Susan and various other students who he’s interacted with hug him, thank him for his support. Kiki keeps dropping hints about high enrollment for the Spring and a need for another full-time instructor. Regrettably, he has to keep telling her no. He has another year left of his service term to finish if he wants veteran benefits, but after that… Maybe. Definitely.

One day, a few weeks after Shiro’s visit for Buena Noche that he sees him. His father. It’s just like any other afternoon, he walks up to the building eyes forward, ignoring the handful of protesters that are there, when he sees one man walk right up to the barrier, poster bearing the usual Earth-First slogan hanging loose in his hand by his side.

He stops in his tracks. There’s no mistaking him. That’s his father. Jackson William Hartfield. Their eyes meet. It’s been how long now? A year, over a year. Without thinking Curtis steps toward him, he doesn’t know why; instinct maybe.

It doesn’t matter why Curtis approaches, because Jackson steps back away from the barricade, away from him. Curtis course-corrects and sets his eyes back on the door. He refuses to look even through his peripherals as he passes where his father stands. He hits the buzzer so many times that Kiki has to scream through the intercom to get him to stop before she can let him in.

“Jesus, what’s your problem today, Curt? Curt?” Kiki squats down to his level. When did he get down on the floor? “What’s going on?”

His father is outside. His father is a Earth-First protester. He had a poster and everything. He had stepped back. Like Curtis was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Like Curtis was not his only living son. Like he didn’t regret disowning him. All this time, Curtis nurtured the secret hope that his parents just didn’t know how to bridge the gap they had made and maybe if he gave them time they’d get over themselves enough to reach out. Then maybe they could move past it, together. Like the family they are supposed to be.

But obviously, that’s not what his father wants.

Curtis has no idea how much of that he says aloud, but he must say enough for Kiki to understand what the problem is.

“We can walk you out to the bus if you’d like. You don’t have to stay if you-“

“No! Fuck him!” Curtis’s shout echoes off the lobby walls, startling one of the students who’s waiting for his teacher to become available. “If he wants me to leave he’s going to have to drag me out! Show he actually gives a damn about me!”

“Alright, alright. You can stay, just not here. C’mon, my office.” Kiki grabs his one arm and tugs up until he stands and stumbles after her into her office.

She sits him down in the one spare chair she has, the one he usually occupies when he’s doing edits. Kiki asks if there’s someone she can call for him. No. Raquel would see it was Jackson and who knows how she’d react. He could call Pidge, but a paladin showing up out of the blue could incite the few protesters into a much larger gathering. And of course, Shiro and Veronica are off-planet and busy.

“No. Just, I’ll just get to work.”

He gets no work done. The tests and essays swim in front of his eyes and his pen never touches a page. Today he’s entirely useless and because she’s his friend, Kiki gives him a pass. When the school closes for the day, she gives him a ride home.

“Am I going to see you tomorrow?” she asks, tentative.

He doesn’t know and that answer terrifies him.

“I’ll let you know. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

He walks into his apartment and his hand pauses on the light switch. It’s long since become a habit to immediately turn on the living room light and then also the kitchen light when he gets home. One is to keep him from falling into habits that worry his boyfriend, the other is to remind him to eat something before bed. But his damn father, he makes the darkness look so comfortable right now. He wants to slink into it, forget he exists. Both him and his father.

His phone rings and already he knows it’s Shiro. He flips on the light.

“Hey.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Who says anything’s the matter?”

“Your I’m-Not-Okay-But-Don’t-Ask-Voice says something’s the matter.”

“It seems to be saying not to ask.”

Shiro frowns at him and Curtis groans. He throws himself down on the couch. A lime-green pillow with fluffy blue polka-dots drops to the floor. It’s the one Shiro got Anissa’s help in picking out. She has a flair for the ridiculous that both he and Shiro are happy to cultivate.

“Teacup?”

“Teacup.”

“I thought,” Curtis takes a gulp of a breath. Shiro tells him to take another one. He does, quaking violently as he exhales, “I-I-I thought I was over it. It still stung, but it wasn’t the worst thing then today-“

Shiro has to talk him through a breathing exercise before he can get the whole story out and even then, he’s exhausted in a way that hasn’t been since he transferred.

“Do you want me to come back?” Shiro offers.

Oh. Yes. The answer is always yes. Especially right now. Dieu, how nice would it be to crawl into Shiro’s lap and have him pet his hair and say things he needs to hear. And the second he voices that desire, Shiro will skip the diplomatic talks happening on Daibazaal right now. He will. So, Curtis has to stop him.

“No. And that’s not code for come here anyway. Stay. Do your job. That transfer trick only works the one time.”

“Curt.”

That one syllable holds all Shiro’s tender devotion in it. All his worry, all his love. It’s just an abbreviation of his name. It’s koishiteru.

“Just hang on a second.” Curtis walks himself and the phone into the bedroom. He turns on the lamp so Shiro can still see him and then gets under the covers. He fixes the extra pillow and the Atlas doll so the phone stands upright even as he lays down. “Alright. Tell me how the talks are going. That’s what I want. I want to fall asleep to boring meeting details.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, his worry less than appeased, but not heightened. He makes good on Curtis’s wish. Five minutes into negotiation talk, Curtis falls asleep.

When he wakes the next morning, he decides two things: 1. That he needs the day off. 2. He’s going to fill-out those intake papers and start seeing someone. Today. Because all he wants to do is spend all day in bed, let the darkness wash over him and paint over all the new things that make him happy in stone-cold nothingness. He’ll be damned if he lets that happen again. And certainly not because of Jackson Hartfield.

Spite is just as good as any other reason to start therapy.

He gets up, gets ready for work, goes to work, and informs Pidge of his two decisions. Pidge nods, tosses her tasks for the day on other officers or her brother and joins him, uninvited but welcome all the same. While he fills out the forms she sits with him and distracts him with weird hypotheticals until he’s called.

The therapist he meets with isn’t actually his therapist. It’s just the coordinator who will decide who his therapist will be based on his needs. She asks a lot of the same questions he answered on the forms then she asks a few more based on his service record.

“I see you recently transferred posts. Has it been an easy transition?”

“Nope.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He gives as best an answer as he can. He misses his boyfriend. His parents disowned him. The work felt more fulfilling in his last post. He made mental/emotional bond with a sentient spaceship that gave him a constant sense of camaraderie that he lacks on Earth. He trusts that last reason will end up being a recurring topic in his sessions.

“What prompted you to transfer?”

It’s therapy. Best to be honest.

“To keep my boyfriend from ruining his prestigious career to keep me out of prison. Also, because I didn’t want to go to prison.”

She raises an eyebrow, and then makes a note. That’s going to be a revisited topic too. He bets himself 10 GAC on it.

* * *

The next gift he gets after he tells Shiro about starting therapy is a both a joke and a source of support. It’s a card, welcoming him to the crazy club, signed by their friends and acquaintances who have all gone to therapy too. They leave little notes of encouragement next to their signatures. A few names he’s surprised to see like Colleen Holt’s. Next to her name she offers a cup of tea whenever he’d like one. Veronica’s parents sign too, calling him son and meaning it.

Part of him kinda hates that all these people know he’s in therapy, or that he even needs it. It’s a boundary discussion he needs to have with Shiro. A larger part of him breathes in relief because now he knows exactly who he can mention it to and not worry about having to explain himself. He has a talk with Shiro about boundaries. It's fine, it's cool, but _only this once._ Afterwards he sets the card on his nightstand next to the photo of him and Elliott and uses his Clefairy figurine to help prop it up.

Therapy airs-out wounds he thought he had closed but had allowed to fester instead. It points out wounds he didn’t realize he had. He has a lot of realizations. About his family. About his work. About himself. Like, how he has the tendency to hesitate when he doesn’t need to.

“Oh, I have a present for you,” Curtis murmurs against Shiro’s thigh.

Currently they recover from their marathon sex through the apartment by laying out on the living room floor. They had to properly re-christen their apartment. Shiro finally agreed to the distinction during dinner. Curtis may pay the rent, but Shiro’s more than paid his share of it by making the place worth living in. The plush anti-static area rug they lay on is testament to that.

Shiro leans up on his elbow and smirks down at him, “the vibrating cock-ring wasn’t my birthday present?”

“You can have more than one present,” Curtis teases right back, yanking on the aforementioned toy until it slides off Shiro with a groan. He tosses it in the general direction of the bathroom where he can clean it later. He pushes at Shiro’s leg, “now go on. It’s in your nightstand.”

“You’re so bossy. And on my birthday!”

“You like it.”

“Don’t kink-shame me!” Shiro’s laughter drifts in the air as he disappears into the bedroom.

Curtis breathes in and breathes out and tries to calm his nerves. He hears Shiro pull the drawer open. The crinkle of paper and the _ting!_ of something metal hitting a hard surface. Then silence, horrifying, nausea-inducing silence.

Shiro pads his way back into the living room, the slip of paper in one hand, a platinum engagement band in the other. He seems frozen, so Curtis rises and goes to meet him.

“Did I misspell it? I swear having three alphabets for one language still seems excessive,” Curtis jokes to ease the tension, then sees that Shiro’s not in the joking mood. “Mon étoile?’

“Say it. You promised to say it once you knew.”

Curtis smiles, relieved. He kisses him and takes the ring just long enough to slip it onto Shiro’s finger. Their fingers knit together. Shiro looks at him expectantly, eyes shining with love and with trust. Curtis smiles wider.

“Koishiteru.”


	21. Hoshi no Hikari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A race to be best man, changing careers, and a secret honeymoon

They stand alone on the observation deck at the Garrison, the dawn blazing orange across the sky and changing the mountains in the distance to mauve. They’ve been up for hours now, never sleeping all that well the nights before Shiro goes back to the Atlas. Curtis nudges Shiro with his shoulder when he sees it. Right on the boarder of lingering dark and the new day is the familiar swirl of a wormhole. It blips out of sight before Shiro can spot it.

“Hmmm,” Shiro grunts, leaning into his side.

Curtis wraps his arm around him, securing Shiro in place. In less than an hour the cargo shuttle will land. In another hour it’ll empty, restock, refuel, and take Shiro away. It’s especially hard today. He doesn’t regret getting engaged, but he does regret not being able to spend more time celebrating it.

“Called it.”

Curtis glances over his shoulder and sees Pidge at the door. He smiles at the tray of to-go coffees she has with her.

“Those for us?” Shiro asks, his voice a sleepy croak.

“Depends,” she walks over, tauntingly keeping the coffee out of reach, “are you going to let me see the goods?”

They both thrust out their left hands for her observation. Perfectly matched rings glint at her. They only just managed to get Curtis’s yesterday. Shiro definitely used some of his fame to get the resizing done in time.

“Kinda plain, but cute!” Pidge hands over the coffee.

Shiro starts guzzling his and Curtis shakes his head, “you don’t need an extraordinary ring when you’ve got an extraordinary fiancé.”

“Gross.”

Curtis decides to kiss Shiro despite the coffee breath for good measure. Pidge pulls a face, but there’s a smile hidden there somewhere. She got the call with the rest of the paladins announcing the news yesterday. And if her whoop of “ _I knew it!”_ is anything to go by she’s happy for them.

“So, I know you guys probably haven’t gotten that far into the planning process, but what are my chances of being a best man?”

A friendly argument erupts that helps bring Shiro further into the waking world. Shiro lists the other candidates. Curtis tells her he’ll have an application she can fill out by the end of the day. Pidge dislikes both of these replies.

Pidge points at Shiro then at Curtis, “I fought a war with you! I kept you out of prison!”

“Duly noted,” Shiro says, completely unaffected by her argument and sips the last of his coffee.

Behind them they can hear the mild roar of the engines as the shuttle touches down. That’s their cue. Shiro hugs Pidge, thanks her for the coffee. Then reaches out and grabs Curtis’s hand.

Curtis walks him down to the dock. It’s a part of their tradition, to watch the loading and unloading. It takes their minds off the inevitable. Technically it’s part of Shiro’s duties as captain, but the ground crew have long since accepted that he’s not in captain mode until he’s aboard and Curtis is out of sight.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Curtis smiles. Shiro says that about all their calls. I’ll see you tomorrow, or I’ll see you in an hour. It’s precious and it helps a little, but it’ll be another 3 months until he can touch his fiancé again.

He draws him in for a kiss. Gratuitous and a little bit more than what the shuttle crew’s patience can handle, but he can’t find any fucks to give.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

With Shiro in space zero wedding planning happens for a while. Which suits Curtis well, he’s still navigating a long-distance relationship, working through things in therapy, and making advanced plans on a career change. He has enough on his plate at the moment. Besides, he likes the engagement bubble he and Shiro are in, where their discussions about the wedding are dreamy, not stressful.

There’s small things that they decide on. Juniberries for the flowers. White suits for the wedding party. The wedding party members, if not Shiro’s best man. Currently Keith, Lance, and Pidge are all advocating themselves for the position. It’ll be Keith. Curtis will break-off the engagement if it isn’t. If it weren’t for Keith there’d be no Shiro to marry. But his fiancé, great peacemaker that he is, enjoys stirring the pot now that he doesn’t have to worry about it boiling over.

“It’s like we’re back to when we first started as a team. Lance and Keith driving each other up a wall with how competitive they both are. Now that the fate of the universe doesn’t hang in the balance, it’s hilarious.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun but I think it’s getting to Keith. Last time I saw him he nearly cried when he lost a napkin folding contest.”

“Really?”

“Really, I took him out for drinks and darts after, but still.”

Shiro grins at him, his face freezing for a second before the connection clears. “-told you that I’m glad you two get along?”

“Of course, we get along. I keep that non-dairy ice cream he likes in the freezer and he tells me embarrassing stories about you.”

“What do you think about us getting a bigger place? That way Keith can actually have a bed when he visits?”

“I’ve mentioned it to him, but I think he honestly likes bunking with Lance.”

Three months pass slow, but they do pass. When he, Pidge, and Lance land on Altea, they arrive just in time to see the tail end of a race between two of the new Altean fighter ships.

They come around the otherside of the castle and land a few feet away from them, kicking up dust that makes Curtis cough and his eyes water. Keith exits his cockpit first, face split wide open with a smile. Shiro jumps out of his next, bouncing up to Curtis with a helmet under his arm and hair slicked back with sweat.

“Hey,” Shiro leans up for a kiss. “Guess who’s my best man?”

Lance lets out a stream of denials and misgivings. Keith only smiles wider and challenges Lance to a race if he’s so adamant about it not being fair. Curtis can only shake his head and admire the elated flush of Shiro’s cheeks.

“Go on,” Curtis can plainly see that Shiro’s dying to go again. He doesn’t get to fly much for the fun of it anymore. “I want to see what you’re made of.”

Shiro laughs breathlessly and kisses him again. And away he goes. Somehow a third aircraft is provided for Lance. They must grow on trees on Altea or something. They’re off again, darting, rolling, zooming across the Altean sky on a racetrack only the three of them know about.

“You know, I’m starting to think I never had a shot at best man,” Pidge sighs.

“You don’t say.” Curtis watches Shiro’ ship as it maintains the lead. As elegant as a dancer it maneuvers around Allura’s statue. The tip of its wing coming so close to Allura’s nose, but never posing a true threat. His fiancé is extraordinary.

The Paladins have their special reunion dinner and Curtis has dinner with Veronica, Acxa, and Shay. Veronica he talks to regularly, Acxa he actually sees as often as he sees Keith, but Shay. Oh it’s so good to see Shay. 

“ _Please_ ,” Curtis moans around a bite of whatever dish she hands him, “please cater my wedding.”

Shay’s face contorts with concern. “Were you ever considering someone else?”

“Mon dieu, no!”

The engagement is a topic persistently discussed despite his and Shiro’s best efforts to keep the focus on their friends, despite their insistence that they aren’t in the planning stage yet. Their friends, of course, don’t care about any of that. Their first night there, Veronica pulls him aside and asks if he’s told his parents yet.

“I’m sure they know.”

They’d have to. Anissa already refers to Shiro as ‘Uncle Shiro’. And given Shiro’s notoriety, the engagement was all over the intergalactic tabloids. Even First-Earthers like them couldn’t miss it if they tried.

“Are you going to invite them?”

Shiro’s asked him the same thing. He’ll back his decision whatever it is, but Shiro tries to lean him toward yes. But the more Curtis thinks about it, the more he’s convinced he shouldn’t. He hasn’t seen his father in the throng of protesters since that one day, but he’s sure he’s somewhere else spreading the toxic message. Acxa and Keith will be in the wedding party and they’ll be inviting various Blade members too. He doesn’t want to spend his wedding day worried about them offending people he cares about, people who are intergalactic heroes. That, and he doesn’t want to send an invitation and wait for a RSVP he’s not sure will come.

“No,” he decides then and there.

Veronica says she supports him, but her eyes say he’s making a mistake.

His parents aren’t mentioned again and their Altean holiday resumes. The weekend passes too fast in comparison to the time it took to get there. In the early mornings, Shiro and Keith sneak out to keep testing the new ships. They say it’s a favor to Coran, who wants the ships well vetted before they leave atmosphere, but everyone knows better. It inspires an idea, a conspiracy really, the good kind, but Curtis will have to wait until Shiro’s out of earshot to get it rolling.

Metal fingers drum against the scar over his ribcage. Curtis nuzzles his face between a set of glorious pectorals. Shiro’s perfectly sculpted. No longer pure bulging muscle now Hunk and Shay adequately keep him from twice a day workouts, but lean and powerful. He smooths his hands over Shiro’s back, the muscles there strong enough to hold him against a wall and fuck him into oblivion. Which he did. Just a few minutes ago before they tumbled into bed.

“I want to come home.”

“I want you home too,” Curtis says, pressing his face into warm skin. Tomorrow they’ll go their separate ways again. “But it’ll be okay in a couple days, it’s just the first few that hurt the worst.”

“No, Curt. You don’t get it. I don’t just miss you.”

Shiro’s frustrated tone draws Curtis’s eyes to his. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Shiro breathes in deeply, as if he’s getting up the nerve to say it out loud. “I want to resign my post.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Shiro stares, waiting for Curtis to say more. Approve, disapprove. Curtis approves, of course. He wants Shiro with him like this every day, but it’s not his choice. Engaged or not.

“You’re not doing this for me, right? Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean-“

“I’m doing it for me,” Shiro assures him, running a thumb over his jaw. “You know how in therapy, I’ve been working on delegating? That I don’t have to do everything?”

“Yeah.”

He’s been well aware of the issue even before Shiro started addressing it with Retkins. Shiro runs himself on fumes as a habit. He saw it as Shiro’s subordinate. He sees it even now. It’s the disagreement they have every time Shiro comes back home: how many chores he’s supposed to take on. Curtis just wants him to pick up after himself, help keep up with the laundry and the dishes. That’s it. Shiro always insists on deep cleaning the entire apartment. Dusting, moping, scrubbing down the shower, the works. As if to make up for all the time he wasn’t there cleaning.

“For so long I had to be in charge, keep everything moving. Even after Allura died and the lions left I felt that way. Then I looked around the bridge before I left to come here and… well I didn’t need to be there. I made a list and everything. There are plenty of talented pilots that could take the helm, Liefsdottir in particular seems to have bonded with the Atlas and… And Hunk’s made amazing progress as a diplomat. They don’t need me.”

Curtis hums, rubbing at the spot between his shoulder blades, the place that carries the most tension in Shiro’s body. “And, you’re happy? That you’re not needed?”

“By the universe in general? Thrilled.” Shiro moves to kiss his cheek. “I assume _you_ still need me?”

Only as much as he needs air. “Of course.”

“Good, because marrying you is not something I’m willing to delegate.”

“Dieu, can I get some wine with that cheese?”

Shiro kisses him, long and languid. They roll, so Shiro’s on his back and Curtis can skitter his hands across his abdomen. When he pulls back he can read every insecurity on Shiro’s face. He’s selfish for wanting to leave duty. He’s nothing without it. He’ll mess everything up; their relationship and the universe itself if he resigns. Everyone will be disappointed in him for choosing love and happiness over everything else.

Invariably, someone will be upset, but not Curtis. Not anyone who really loves Shiro.

“How soon can you come home?”

The smile he receives in return could set the entirety of existence on fire.

* * *

Shiro resigns the next day. He comes home the day after that. He leaves his position with none of the fanfare that someone of his service record and reputation deserves. Exactly the way Shiro wants it. The only thing that marks the occasion is a casual dinner at their apartment with the mutual friends they have on Earth.

The adjustment to having Shiro home goes as smoothly as can be expected. Shiro gets a referral for a civilian therapist with a history of dealing with vets and he joins a gym, starts taking a tai chi class. They have the usual growth pains any couple has when sharing a space full-time. Who does what chores, who gets to claim the bathroom when, how to organize the shared closet. Normal issues. Easy issues.

They set a date, finally. Shiro does a lot of the legwork in planning their wedding, presenting options for flower arrangements or table settings and song lists when Curtis gets home from work. The word delegate comes up often in these discussions. Shiro pulls a face when it does.

“I _want_ to do it,” Shiro pouts, “besides, you’re starting a new job soon.”

Curtis doesn’t care. The instructor position isn’t an issue and it certainly won’t serve as an excuse to let Shiro overtax himself. He takes over fine combing the enormous guest list and making the registry and planning a clandestine honeymoon. Despite Shiro’s every attempt to figure it out he succeeds in keeping it secret up until the day of the wedding.

Rosy-warm from champagne and an overindulgence in cake and dancing; Curtis pulls Shiro from the reception. The party remains in high spirits despite entering into the fourth hour of celebrating. Amazing the atmosphere that materializes around good food and good people.

The McClains were happy to host both ceremony and reception on the ranch. In fact, they rather insisted on it. The idea of using a banquet hall or any other venue when they had all this land fell on deaf ears. If nothing else, it helped keep the guest list below 100 people. While those native to Earth had accommodations elsewhere, everyone else would be staying on the ships they had parked in the fallow field. Where Curtis currently lead his new husband.

“Curt, where are we going?” Shiro giggles into his ear.

“You’ll see, mon étoile.” Curtis says, pressing a kiss to Shiro’s temple and strengthening the grip he has around his waist. Soon, they approach their destination.

In front of them sits a sleek, pale blue transport ship. Altean in design, Terran in its programming, and meant for casual interstellar travel. Or, a really pretty space RV with a few defensive capabilities.

Curtis opens the hatch and before he can walk them aboard, Shiro stops him.

He hisses, “Curt, we can’t go traipsing on someone else’s ship!”

"Lucky it’s ours then.”

He relishes the look on Shiro’s face, the confused furrow of his brow and the twitch of his nose.

“We have a ship?”

Curtis leads him in. They pass through the cargo hold, which is already filled with supplies, the living quarters which are reminiscent of the ones they had on the Atlas, excepting the bigger bed and a kitchenette. Then the two-seater cockpit. He answers all of Shiro’s stunned questions.

“How are we- how can we afford this?”

“Coran wanted to give it to us for free, but I know that wouldn’t sit well with either of us, so we’re paying him in installments. Why do you think I’ve been so stubborn about not getting a car?”

“Can it fly?”

Curtis scoffs, like he’d get his husband a junk ship, “I ran diagnostics this morning.”

Shiro takes a look around the cockpit, his fingers skimming the controls.

“I asked them to make the controls as similar as possible to the ones on the ships you flew on New Altea with Keith.”

“Do we even have permission to fly it?”

“I got clearance last week. It’s officially registered.”

Shiro smirks at him, “what’s her name?”

“Hoshi no Hikari.”

“Because of my hair?” Shiro laughs and looks back around the cockpit, his white tux bright even in the dim lighting. “So, this is the secret honeymoon? An intergalactic road trip?”

Curtis nods, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers, feels the wedding band on Shiro’s finger. Shiro squeezes his hand in growing excitement.

“Where to?”

“I have a couple of ideas. Routes mapped out, but we’re not on any particular schedule. Raquel’s gonna sublet the apartment until we get back.”

Shiro’s eyebrows scrunch again and Curtis leans down to kiss his forehead. Then his nose, his cheeks. He misses his mouth on purpose, knows the question Shiro’s going to ask him and answers it before he can voice it.

“My job at the school was temporary. I was filling in a space between instructors. We’re both getting benefits from service and there’s no reason we can’t have our therapy sessions via video call. We can go explore the universe as little or as much as you want.” Curtis runs his hands through starlight hair. “You’re meant to fly, mon étoile and I’m meant to be with you.”

Shiro grabs him, kisses him, claims him. He’s laughing, they’re laughing. Both of them exhilarated that they can have this adventure together. No responsibility. No fear.

“When can we go?” Shiro asks, breathless in his excitement.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“So…” Shiro glances at the pilot seat, “now?”

“Now? Right now, now?” Curtis shakes his head, “we can’t give everyone an Irish-Goodbye. They’ll think something’s happened to us.”

Shiro’s lips arch in a pouty frown, “fine.”

Roughly twenty minutes later, the Hoshi no Hikari takes off, flying over a confused crowd of partiers.

“Uh…” Hunk glances around at his fellow guests, his tone nervous, “what was that?”

“Shiro and Curtis’s new ship!” Coran supplies the answer, slurring a little over his chipper answer.

There’s various expressions and exclamations of surprise all excepting Raquel and Veronica. But it’s Keith’s unusual laughter that takes their attention next. Everyone swivels towards him. He can’t stop laughing, all he can do is hold out his phone, which is opened to the wedding party group chat. Under Shiro’s icon is a picture of him and Curtis, still wearing their tuxes, strapped into the seats of a cockpit, smiling like idiots. The message under the picture reads:

_Bye!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I can't believe this monster of a project is done. It's been a year and then some in the making and I'm both relieved and sad to see it finished. Thank you for all the love you've given this story and I hope each of you remain safe and well. :)


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